


Ancients and Angels

by libbywednesday



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: 2P Hetalia, 2P!GerIta - Freeform, Adorable Italy (Hetalia), Afterlife, Ancient Empires, Angel Wings, Blood, Brotherly Affection, Denial of Feelings, Dimension Travel, Ensemble Cast, Epic Battles, Fluff and Angst, Flying, France Being France (Hetalia), Germany Showing Emotions, Gratuitous Use Of Magic, Grief/Mourning, I wrote this years ago, Knifeplay, M/M, Minor Character Death, Minor Injuries, Mutual Pining, No Sex, Poor Canada (Hetalia), Prophecy, Prussia is not Dead (Hetalia), Rescue Missions, Reunions, Sexual Tension, Violence, Wingtalia, gerita - Freeform, hints of FrUK, i dont know what tags to use this is a really weirdly complex fic, i guess, if you wanna get technical
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-13
Updated: 2018-06-15
Packaged: 2019-05-21 22:26:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 20
Words: 33,792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14924025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/libbywednesday/pseuds/libbywednesday
Summary: It never crossed Germany's mind that he could lose his best friend. But, when a freak accident leaves Italy gone forever, Germany will do anything to get him back. And, if bringing him back involves traveling to the Netherworld to seek help from some of the world's greatest empires, so be it.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! I'm just moving this fic I wrote in 2012 over from fanfic because I like ao3's interface a lot better!

“Like this, Germany?”

“No, you’ve got it upside-down again.”

“Oh. How ‘bout this?”

“ _ Nein _ . It’s facing the wrong way.”

“Mmh,” Italy whined, dropping the pistol to the ground, “Germany, guns are boring.”

Germany flipped the safety on on his handgun and slipped it into its holster on his belt. “Maybe they wouldn’t be so boring if you learned how to use them properly,” he suggested.

“Yeah,” Italy pondered, “but I have a better idea!”  He bounced up on his toes and looked to his superior for permission to speak his mind.

“I’m going to regret this but... What is it?”

Italy pointed in the direction of the airplane hangars on the outskirts of Germany’s property. “You should show me how to fly, Germany! I bet I could be really good at it if you taught me! I could be a fluffy waffle pilot just like you used to be!”  

Germany rolled his eyes. “The term is _ Luftwaffe _ and no. You can barely use a gun. There’s no way I’d trust you to fly hundreds of feet above the ground, not by yourself anyhow.”

“But I wouldn’t be by myself, Germany! You’d be with me! We could be a dynamic duo up in the clouds!” Italy cried.

Germany squinted up at the sky. It was clear and blue: perfect flying weather for beginners...

“No.”

“PLEEEEEEASE?!”

“ _ Nein _ . Not today. Tomorrow... maybe.”

“Yaaay!” Italy cheered, flinging his arms around the bigger man in a tight hug. “Thank you, Germany!”

“Ugh,” Germany groaned. “Get off.” He tried to pry Italy off of himself to no avail. Finally, he gave in and returned the embrace. “Mmh.... You can let go now...”

Italy dropped his arms. “Okay! So, tomorrow?”

“I said maybe.”

“But maybe isn’t no! I’m going to go tell Japan!” He skipped off, singing some little tune to himself.

Germany shook his head, watching Italy as he danced away. He bent down and picked up Italy’s gun, twirling it around his fingers before sticking it firmly on his belt. He took a deep breath, inhaling the fresh, flowery scent of spring.

Springtime was always so beautiful in his country: the flowers were in bloom, the trees dripping with pink and white blossoms, the lush, green, grass vibrant with tiny violets and buttercups. He always had a soft spot for the beauty of nature and found himself sitting down with his back to one of the silver birch trees, absently whittling a piece of bark with his pocket knife.

He was surprised to catch himself smiling; he could never find many reasons to be happy lately. He was now though. If not happy, then content. He was alone and it was peaceful. That’s all he really wanted at the moment.

He had almost dozed off under the shade of the tree when something soft and warm brushed up against his arm, startling him. He looked down to see a little gray tabby cat purring and playing with the blades of grass that swayed with the breeze.

“Oh,” he said. “Cat. You’re that cat Italy always carries around. Pookie, is it?” It took him a minute to realize that he was talking to a cat and he wasn’t going to get an answer. His cheeks reddened, slightly embarrassed with himself. He turned away and went back to carving the piece of wood in his hands.

_ “Miao!” _ said the cat, batting at his sleeve.

_ “Geh weg,” _ Germany returned. “I’m not your owner. Go bother Italy for a while, why don’t you?”

The cat rolled over onto its back and continued to entertain itself with Germany’s clothing. _ “Miao!” _

Germany scooted away from it. “ _ Nein _ . Stop it.”

The cat pounced on his boot and began to chew on his shoelaces, purring and flicking its tail playfully. Germany attempted to gently push it away with his other foot but he couldn’t.

“Ungh... Listen, Cat... Pookie... I understand that you’re having fun but... but I’m not enjoying this and... and you should go... somewhere else...” Germany said, his face flushing. This was not his cat. It was Italy’s cat.

Like he expected, the cat absolutely refused to listen to reason. “I’m serious, Cat. I’ll send you to the lab if you don’t quit it.”

_ “Miao miao!” _ it mewed, climbing up Germany’s leg and rubbing against his stomach.

Germany pushed it off of him this time. “Quit it, Cat. Can’t I have any peace!? Can’t I go five minutes without _ someone _ following me or _ tugging at my sleeve,” _ he tore his arm out of the cat’s reach. He got to his feet but the cat only wove in and out of his legs, still purring and meowing. Germany rubbed his temples and reached down, grabbing the cat by the scruff of its neck. “Listen, I didn’t want to have to do this but you leave me no choice.” He started to walk back towards the house, the cat still purring in his hand.

With one swift motion, the cat managed to swing its legs up and scratch its way out of Germany’s grip, climbing up his sleeve and onto his shoulder. Germany grumbled something under his breath. “Fine, Cat. Stay there for all I care.”

_ “Miao!” _ It licked his ear with its rough tongue.

“I hate cats.”

The wind picked up, displacing a few locks of Germany’s blonde hair from his usual slicked back style. The cat dug its claws into his jacket to keep from falling. It was a cold wind, an unusually cold wind carrying a very unusual scent: sunflowers. Then he saw him, marching slowly through the meadow, lead pipe dangling from his left hand. It was Russia.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Germany!” Russia greeted cheerfully, lavender eyes smiling with him.

“What are you doing here?” Germany hissed. “A death threat? A treaty? Do I owe you money or something?”

“Nothing of those sorts,” Russia laughed. “I am only having a question to be asking.”

“And that is?”

“How much is your land worth to you?”

“Pardon me?”

“How much is-”

“ _ Ja _ , _ ja _ , I heard you. What’s that supposed to mean?” Germany went a little pale. This conversation was not going in a good direction.

“I was thinking that I am needing to have land closer to other allies. I have great love for Mother Russia but she is so far... I was wondering if you could maybe give me land close to border so I could have home not so far away,” said Russia.

Germany digested that. Russia wasn’t being unreasonable. In fact, there _ was _ a nice plot of land relatively close to France’s border that he was looking to sell. If Russia was willing to settle a price... “How much land would you need? A few kilometers?”

“Umm... I was thinking... All of it.”

“WHAT!?”

“ _ Da _ . All of it would be good.”

“All of Germany!? You want ALL of _ Deutchland _ !?”

“Yes. And, also, I am not being able to pay you.”

“So you just plan on... on TAKING it!?’

“No.”

“Then what do you plan on-”

“Oh, wait. I am meaning yes.”

“Well... well... well.... _ NEIN _ ! You can’t just... just HAVE my country!”

“But why?” Russia blinked innocently.

“Where the hell am I supposed to go!?” Germany yelped, his voice cracking.

“You can stay here and become one with Mother Russia, yeah?” Russia suggested.

“NO!”

“Or you can have Siberia. No one likes Siberia. You can have it. I give it to you. For free! If, in return, you give me all of your country!” Russia rocked back and forth on his toes like a small child, beaming brightly.

“I don’t think you understand what ‘free’ means.”

“In my country we have no word for fun.”

Germany was taken aback. “What? That has nothing to do with th- What?”

“Okay, so, I’ll be taking your land now, yes?”

“No!”

“Please with sugars on top?”

“I said _ nein _ .”

Russia frowned, suddenly looking less like a child and more like a force to be reckoned with. “If you do not give _ Germaniya _ over to me, I’m having no choice but to take it.”

Germany clenched his fists. “I’d like to see you try.”

Russia smirked, eyes aglow with a dangerous sort of fire. “You will.” He turned and walked away, back through the meadow, scarf flowing behind him in the wind.

Germany stood, frozen in place for a while, watching Russia disappear. Slowly, his face grew redder and redder and he felt the anger rising in his chest. This was his country, his home, and no one was going to take that away from him.

He bolted back to his house and flung the door open, ignoring the cat that still clung to his shoulders for dear life. “ITALY!” he shouted.

Italy appeared in the foyer almost instantly. “I didn’t do it, Germany! I promise! Just don’t yell at me, okay, please? Oh! You found Pookie!” He reached out and the cat leaped from Germany’s shoulders to his.

“You’re not in trouble, Italy. Get ready, we’re going up.”

“Up?” Italy said.

“I’m teaching you to fly.”

Italy’s face lit up. “Really!? Oh yay! Thank you, Germany!”

“This isn’t because of you. We might find ourselves in some trouble one of these days and I’d feel a lot safer if you knew how to operate a plane,” Germany explained. “So let’s go.”

Italy saluted. “Yes sir!”

Once they were properly suited up in the leather flight uniforms that Germany had stuffed in the back of his closet, Germany lead Italy to the hangars at the far side of his property. Italy had never been inside of them before. Germany had always said it was much too dangerous and there were too many things he would have access to and, therefore, break.

It was a huge, domed building with high ceilings and a vast, concrete floor. Towards the center rested three biplanes. Germany began to go towards the smallest: a gray one with yellow stripes and matching wingtips.

“This is the Gotha Go 145,” Germany explained. “She’s a trainer.”

“It’s pretty,” said Italy, skipping towards it, inspecting it from all angles. He climbed up on the wing. “Look at me, Germany!”

“Get down from there, you’ll break it... or yourself,” Germany warned.

“No I won’t! I’m- Whoa!” he started but toppled onto the ground. “Oof.”

Germany stepped over to him, poking his side with his boot. “Are you alright, Italy?” he asked, frowning.

“Yeah, I’m okay!” Italy said, grinning, and getting to his feet. “Let’s go, Germany! I’m excited!” He climbed back up onto the wing.

“Now, you just fell off and now you’re getting back up on there?” Germany said, rolling his eyes. “Did you learn nothing from the last time?”

Italy sat down, cross legged, looking down at Germany. “I did learn something. I learned how not to fall off!” He smiled.

Germany shook his head and extended a hand to his comrade to help him down. “You’re something else, Italy,” he said, sarcasm riding on his voice.

Italy took his hand and jumped back to the ground. “So which seat do I sit in?” he asked, examining each of the cockpits.

“The front,” answered Germany. “You’re going to be flying.”

“Oh,” Italy bit his lip. “Okay.”

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Germany asked. “You look a little nervous.”

Italy stuck out his chest. “I’m not nervous at all!” he said. “I can do this!”

A smile spread across Germany’s face for a second before he caught himself. “Good. Are

you ready?”

Italy thought for a moment before nodding. “ _ Si _ !”

Germany bobbed his head. “Alright then, let’s start this training session,” he said. He gave Italy a boost into the front cockpit before climbing into the rear one, directly behind Italy, pushing his goggles down over his eyes and starting the engine from the backup set of controls by his seat.  He whistled and gave a shout and four men came running from a small office in the back of the hangar.

One of the men gripped the front propeller of the plane and spun it as hard as he could and ran out of the way as the plane started up. The other three pushed the airplane out through the open doors of the hangar.

“Okay,” Germany shouted over the roaring engine once they were outside. “We’re on the runway now. Pull the lever on the side there and give us some gas. We have to pick up speed if we’re going to get off the ground.”

“O...Okay!” Italy said, gripping the lever with shaky hands. The plane jolted forwards and started to speed down the pavement of the airstrip. “N-now what!?”

“Keep your hands on the yoke, that’s like the steering wheel. There’s a pedal at your feet. That’s the rudder, it’ll bring us up.”

“Do I push it?”

“ _ Ja! _ Careful now, Italy,” Germany directed.

Very cautiously, Italy pressed down on the rudder pedal and the wings shifted, redirecting the air around them. The plane wobbled and began to lift off the ground. “Oh! Oh!” Italy cried, panicking slightly.

“Keep calm; you’re doing fine,” said Germany. He had to admit, Italy was doing a lot better than he expected in the first place. Still, however, he was glad to have his own set of controls in his cockpit, just in case Italy’s nerves got the best of him.

“G-Germany?” Italy said, turning his head slightly, to glance at him out of the corner of his eye.

_ “Ja?” _

“How do I steer this thing?”

“The yoke. You’re holding onto it, right?”

“Y-yes...”

“Just turn it where you want to go.”

“Where do I want to go, Germany?!”

“East. We’re going to go into Poland and then loop around and come back,” Germany explained. “It’ll only take an hour or so.”

Italy breathed a sigh. “O-okay. Am I doing okay, Germany?”

“Yeah, you’re doing great,” he admitted. “I’m very proud of you, Italy.”

“ _ Ve _ ! Really, Germany!?” Italy cried, beaming.

“Yes, but don’t let your guard down yet, we’re barely in the air.”

Italy looked around; they were already pretty high up. “But we’re already higher than all the trees and houses and stuff!”

“Do you think that matters? You always have to get high enough that you can’t be hit by anything from the ground, got it? We have to get a few kilometers up in the air, alright?” Germany explained.

“But... But Germany! That’s so high!” Italy protested.

“If you want, I can fly for a little, until you get used to it. I have controls back here too,” he offered. “If you don’t think you can keep going though, we can always go back home?”

“No!” Italy said, suddenly, his shoulders tensing. “I can do it! J-just tell me where to go...”

“Okay,” Germany agreed, sitting back in his seat. “If you’re confident in yourself, I believe you.”

Germany was surprised; as Italy took the plane up higher and they gained ground between them and their starting point, he was getting to be seriously impressed with him. In all honesty, he didn’t think Italy was going to be able to handle flying by himself but he was doing a fantastic job for his first time.

He caught himself wandering in his memories of his own first flight. He remembered hearing about the Wright Brothers from America back when the airplane was first invented. Then, one day, he came home and his older brother, Prussia, had bought one of them from a British manufacturer and was trying to figure out how to get it started. It was ultimately Germany who thought to read the manual, learn how to fly it, and become the pilot of the family.

“Germany! GERMANY!” Italy’s shouts shook him from his daydreaming.

“What!? What is it!?” he yelled, looking around rapidly. The first thing he noticed was the smoke coming from somewhere beneath the plane.

“The-the... I don’t know what happened it...” Italy sputtered.

“The engine’s overheating; we have to bring her down!” Germany cried, coming to a realization.

“W-what!?”

“If we don’t find somewhere to land, we’re going to go down!”

“Like... like _ crash!?” _

“Yes, like crash! Do you see anywhere we can land!? A road, an airport, anything!?” screamed Germany.

“I... I... No!” cried Italy. All he could see on either side of him were trees, trees, and more trees. He wasn’t even sure where they were now. He had kept going east until, well, until he wasn’t sure which direction east was anymore.

_ “Schiße! _ Look for water then!” Germany commanded, scanning the land for a decent landing spot.

“W-water!?”

“We’re going to have to make an emergency landing! Wouldn’t you rather land in water instead of on something harder like, oh, I don’t know, THE GROUND!?” Germany shouted.

“But, Germany, I’m not the strongest swimmer! I know that’s surprising since I like the water and Venice is my most favorite place in the whole world but I really can’t swim because Big Brother France never taught me because he said that I shouldn’t have to know how to do anything like that because if I was successful in my romantic exploits I wouldn’t need to know how to do anything besides cook and have sex but I only know how to do one of those things anyhow and I just really can’t swim so GERMANY PLEASE DON’T LAND US IN WATER BECAUSE I’LL DROWN AND THEN I’LL NEVER GET TO REALIZE MY DREAM OF BECOMING A PRACTICED LOVER AND MAKE FRANCY PANTS AND GRANDPA ROME PROUD OF ME!” Italy babbled, sobbing.

“There’s a lake!” Germany exclaimed as he saw the deep blue form peeking between the trees in the distance. “You have to land there, Italy! I don’t care if you can’t swim, you’re not going to drown!”

“Germany! No! I can’t! I’m scared! I can’t do it!” Italy shrieked.

“ITALY, LISTEN TO ME!” Germany roared. “Take us down there, NOW! I won’t let anything bad happen to you! I promise!”

“No, no, no!” Italy whimpered. “It’s too scary! I... I can’t!”

“Then _ I’ll _ do it!” Germany took his own yoke into his hands and jerked it to the left, sharply veering them towards the lake.

Italy let out a long, loud wail of terror. “NO, GERMANY!” He screamed, clutching his yoke and tearing to the right.

“ITALY VENEZIANO! WHAT ARE YOU DOING!?” Germany barked.

He looked back, tears streaming down his cheeks. “You don’t understand, Germany! I can’t!”

“I DO UNDERSTAND!” Germany shouted. “And you’re NOT going to drown! I promise to keep you safe, okay!?”

“Germany...!” Italy’s grip on the yoke tightened.

The plane lurched, threatening to plunge out of the air on its own.

“Italy, you have to trust me!”

“I... I trust you!” Italy bawled, turning the plane towards the lake as it started to turn down into a nosedive.

“THIS IS IT!” Germany howled as they plummeted out of the sky. The next thing he felt was the sudden impact of the Gotha Go 145 and the icy cold water of the lake with a sickening splash.


	2. Chapter 2

Germany opened  his eyes and everything was black. It took him a few seconds to realize that he couldn’t breathe. Then he realized that he was underwater. He kicked his feet until his head broke the surface, sputtering and gasping for air. When his vision came back to him, he saw the tail of his beloved biplane jutting out of the water, steam rising from all around it. He turned around, still treading water, and nearly bumped into one of the wings. He looked around. The plane had been utterly torn apart. Splintered wood, scraps of fabric, and pieces of metal filled the lake. Then one thought consumed his entire mind all at once.

Italy.

He spun around frantically, searching desperately for any sign of the Italian. Nothing. No splashing, no bits of clothing, no noise. His heart started to pound and his breathing quickened. “ITALY!” he screamed, his throat burning. “ITALY! WHERE ARE YOU!?” He swam over to the nearest piece of wreckage, turning it over, fishing around for anything. “ITALY!”

Each time he called out for his best friend, he gained nothing and lost a little more of his voice.

He was almost sobbing now. He had to use every ounce of his willpower not to cry but still, shuddering breaths racked his body as he scoured the debris.

After an hour of searching in vain, he pulled himself up to the shore and collapsed out of exhaustion.

***

“Germany! Germany!” The shouts sounded far away even though they were right next to him. “Germany, are you okay!?”

Germany’s bright blue eyes fluttered open. “Ita... Italy...?” Who was standing right in front of him? He couldn’t tell. His vision was too blurry.

“No, it’s Japan!”

“J-Japan?” His eyes adjusted to see the Asian hovering over him.

“Yes, what happened?” Japan asked.

“The plane... overheated... and we had to bring it... down,” Germany panted, still barely conscious. “How... how did you...?” he trailed off.

“I thought it would be safer to keep track of you in case something like this happened. Where is Italy?” said Japan.

Germany’s heart dropped. “You... You can’t find him?”

Japan shook his head. “No. Can’t you find him either?”

“No... I...” his eyes filled up with tears, threatening to spill over his eyelids. He expertly held them back but the lump in his throat refused to go away. “I can’t... I promised I’d keep him safe... I...”

“Just keep quiet for now,” Japan advised. “You’re likely suffering from shock. You need to rest at home.”

“We can’t leave him,” said Germany.

“We will find him,” soothed Japan. “We won’t give up. You, however, need to calm down.”

“I _ can’t _ calm down!” Germany cried, attempting to rise into a sitting position. “He’s got to be around here somewhere! We have to find him before-”

“Germany, there’s nothing you can do now.”

“Like hell there isn’t! I-” There was a sharp pinch in his thigh. “What was that!?”

Japan pulled back the syringe of sedative. “I’m sorry.”

When he next came to, Germany immediately noticed that he was in his bed. The second thing he noticed was that he was staring right into the vivid red eyes of his older brother, Prussia.

“G’morning, West!” Prussia said with a grin. “Nice of you to finally come around!”

“Ugh,” Germany groaned, turning away from him.

“Rude!” said Prussia. “I guess you aren’t hungry and I should just take this delicious food back to the kitchen.”

That caught Germany’s attention as he realized how empty he really was. He looked back over at Prussia. “I’m sorry,” he sighed.

“Damn right you are.” Prussia winked and sat a tray of kielbasa and sauerkraut on the bedside table. “I cooked this so you should know it’ll be awesome.”

Germany sat up in his bed. “How long was I out?” he asked.

Prussia sat on the side of the bed. “A day or so,” he said. He was quiet for a moment for once. “That was kind of un-awesome of you, Germany.”

“Huh?”

“You had a lot of people scared.” Prussia looked uncomfortable admitting this, like it was making himself seem vulnerable or something.

“Italy,” Germany said. “Did you find him.”

Prussia hesitated. “Not... Not yet... But he’ll turn up!” He forced a smile to look sure of himself.

Germany’s chest tightened and that damned lump returned to his throat. “It’s my fault, Prussia,” he confessed softly.

“Naw, West.”

“Yes, it is. I’m the one who was supposed to teach him to fly. I’m the one that didn’t make sure the plane wasn’t going to overheat. I’m the one who didn’t pay attention to where we were going. I’m the one who didn’t think that this would happen. And, most importantly, I’m the one who didn’t keep him safe like I promised!” He bit his lip until he drew blood to keep the tears from coming. He hadn’t cried since the holocaust and he wasn’t going to now, no matter what.

“West...” Prussia started but trailed off, trying to think of what to say.

Germany rolled back over, pulling his covers up to his chin, and staring blankly at the wall. “You can take the food back to the kitchen. I’ve lost my appetite.”

***

“Germany, wake up.” Austria roused him from his sleep. “They found something.”

His cousin’s face was grim and Germany’s stomach turned to ice as he gathered the strength to ask. “What?”

Austria took a ratty scrap of white fabric from his pocket. “This is... was... his-”

“White flag,” Germany finished, gingerly taking the material from his hands to feel it between his fingers. “Italy...”

“I’m sorry, _ vetter _ ,” Austria mumbled, looking down. “That’s all we could find.”

“No!” Germany shouted suddenly, leaping to his feet, ignoring the wave of dizziness that almost overcame him as he did, leaving blind spots in the corners of his vision. “He isn’t gone!”

“Germany...”

“I won’t believe it!” he snarled, crumpling the tattered flag in his fist. “Italy is stronger than you think! He’s got to be in the forest somewhere! Did you check the-”

“We checked everywhere, Germany. He’s not out there,” said Austria. “There’s nowhere else he could be.”

“Then WHERE IS HE!?” Germany roared. “Even if he is,” his voice caught, “dead, shouldn’t you be able to find a body!? _ Nations _ don’t just disappear!”

“His grandfather did. Your brothers did, except for Prussia,” said Austria. _ Unfortunately, _ he thought, regarding Prussia. “And where is your father? Italy’s mother? Any of the ancients? They disappeared, Germany.”

“I refuse to believe that my _ only friend _ has disappeared like one of them! They were weak: Bavaria, Holstein, Brandenburg, all of the others. Italy isn’t as pathetic as that! He might not look it but he’s... he’s strong.”

Austria sighed, realizing that nothing he said would sway his cousin’s mind. “Should... Should we just continue the search then?”

“ _ Ja _ ,” Germany said, tucking the white fabric safely in his nightstand drawer. “Expand the premises. Interrogate Poland if you have to. I want some answers and I want him found, _ verstanden _ ?”

Austria nodded and fixed the glasses on his face. “As you wish,” he said, rolling his eyes as he left the room. On his way out he very nearly ran into Prussia who pushed past.

“Watch out, Austria, I’ve got important business to discuss with my brohas. Isn’t that right, West?” He grinned in Germany’s direction.

_ “Ja, ja,” _ Germany grumbled pushing back his hair in an attempt to make it seem as if he hadn’t been sleeping for two days. “Make it quick. I have things to do today.”

Prussia’s smile vanished as he shut the door behind him. “West, you’re not planning on going out there with the rest of the party, are you? To look for Italy?”

Germany looked at his brother like he had a third eye. “Of course I am, Prussia! I can’t believe you’d think I wou-”

“You need to stay here and rest,” Prussia demanded, attempting to push the younger nation down onto his bed but Germany stood, unwavering.

“I’ve had enough rest. Italy is out there and-”

“And what, West?”

“And, since it’s my fault he’s lost, I should be the one to find him.”

“Typical,” Prussia grumbled, “Always trying to play the hero.”

Germany scoffed. “The hero? Hardly. This is my... my...” What was Italy to him? An ally, yes. A best friend. But there was still-

“Your what?”

“He’s just very important to me, okay?”

Prussia’s grin reappeared. “Ah, is he, Germany?” Prussia hinted, elbowing his brother in the ribs. Germany pushed past him and went to his closet.

“It’s not like that. Let it go.” He found an olive green uniform and slipped it on over his boxers and tank top. “And I’m not going to be able to rest until he’s safe at home anyhow so I suggest you let me go.”

“What if you find something you wish you hadn’t?”

Germany went a little white. “I can’t think about that now. I’m confident that he is still alive and I’m going to find him before something really does happen to him.”

Prussia nodded slowly. “If it’s what you have to do,” he sighed, turning for the door. “Just don’t come crying to me if this doesn’t go as planned.”

Germany harrumphed, stooping to lace up his boots as Prussia stepped out. “Don’t worry,” he said. However, he couldn’t shake the _ what if he’s right? _ thought from his mind. What if Prussia was making sense for once? What if Italy really was dead?

Prussia shut the door behind himself, but paused in the hallway. He frowned sympathetically. It wasn’t easy for him to hear his strong, fearless younger brother softly whimpering from inside his room.

***

_ Dear Diary, _

_ There’s still no sign of Italy. We’ve checked everywhere. Even in Poland and the surrounding areas. It’s been a week. Should I just give up the search? I feel like, if I just quit on him, I’d never be able to live with myself. Then again, if I keep looking and looking and not finding anything I don’t think I’ll be able to live with myself anyhow. _

_ Japan said something about searching Russia in case this whole thing is actually a kidnapping cover-up to weaken my morale. _

_ Why me? Why the hell can’t things ever work out for me? I can’t do anything without it backfiring in my face. I’ve lost two wars, been the home of the world’s largest mass genocide, and now I’ve killed my best friend. _

_ I’m a monster. I give up. Let either heaven or hell take me now because, without Italy, I can’t go on anymore. _

_ ~Germany   _

He dropped the pencil on his desk and buried his face in his hands. He was a mess. His usually sleek hair hung in dull tangles over his eyebrows and his eyes were bloodshot from sleepless nights. He was tired, unkempt, and, most of all, he was sad. He was depressed. He was miserable without Italy to keep his life interesting. What had things been like before their alliance? He could barely remember. It was like, even before that, he had known him a very long time ago...

“POTATO BASTARD!”

Germany jerked his head up at the harsh Italian voice. His heart rose but then fell when he saw that it was only Romano, Italy’s older (and less pleasant) brother.

“Romano,” Germany said, cocking his head at his visitor, “What are you doing here?”

“Veneziano,” Romano growled, using Italy’s birth name, “Where’s my little brother?”

Germany shook his head, looking down. “I- I don’t know, Romano.”

“I heard he went missing and I _ know _ you had something to do with it! _ You’re _ the one who took him up in that plane, weren’t you? It’s _ your _ fault he’s gone!” Romano accused with a snarl.

As much as it hurt him to admit it, Romano’s accusations were true. It _ was _ his fault that Italy was missing. He _ did _ take him up in the plane. _ He _ was the one who crashed. His face fell back into his hands. “I know... I know... I’m sorry, Romano,” he whispered.

Romano’s expression softened slightly but he remained unmoved. “ _ Chigi _ ,” he said with finality. “I just wanted to make sure you knew that it was all because of you.”

“I get it.”

“Though, maybe you’re not fully to blame,” said Romano.

Germany looked up. “Hmm?”

“My stupid brother always was an idiot. He probably couldn’t save himself in the forest. He probably got himself into some ridiculous scenario like the dumbass he is.”

“You know what really surprises me, Romano?” Germany said, his voice wavering sanity and insanity.

Romano arched an eyebrow and leaned in the doorway, crossing his arms. “What, you stupid, Aryan dickface?”

“That you can’t manage to show one single ounce of concern for your brother. He could be dead right now and all you can manage to do is make snide remarks about him!” Germany’s voice rose slowly until he was shouting. “I, for one, am worried sick about him and I’m just his friend and you’re his goddamn brother for Christ’s sake!”

“I don’t see what the point is. If he was alive, we would have found him by now. If he wasn’t dead, he would have come running to you.” Romano mumbled. “He’s not coming back.” It was only then that there was visible pain in his eyes.

Something stirred inside of Germany then and he found himself speaking against his better judgment. _ “Nein. _ Because I’m going to bring him back.”


	3. Chapter 3

Prussia fiddled with the radio dial from the passenger’s seat of the army jeep as he and his brother sped across the countryside.

“Would you cut it out?” Germany snapped, turning the volume down.

“No, because I don’t see why I have to go with you to England... England of all places, West? Couldn’t you have picked somewhere a little more... awesome?” said Prussia, changing the radio to a loud pop station.

“I have to ask a favor of Britain,” Germany explained. “He has something I need if I’m going to find Italy.”

“You’re delusional,” Prussia said, rolling his eyes. “What could England have that you could use to save your little boyfriend?”

Germany punched him in the arm. Hard. “I’m not gay, Prussia.”

“I didn’t say you were! You can love another man and not be-”

_ Thwack! _

“Ow! West!”

“I need to ask England about Black Magic...” Germany admitted.

“Ohhhh no,” Prussia groaned. “You can’t be serious! You’re crazy!”

“If Italy really is dead... then I’m going to do anything I can do to bring him back to life,” said Germany.

Prussia made a face. “Back to life!? He’d be like a zombie, West!” He did his best impression of the undead.

“No,” Germany growled. “Shut up, will you? You’re making me carsick.”

They made it to England’s house in less time than expected. It was a huge, beautiful manor covered in ivy; a Union Jack banner hung elegantly from the balcony.

“Wait in the car, Prussia. I shouldn’t be too long,” Germany said, unbuckling his seat belt.

“Hell no! I am The Awesome Prussia! You’re not making me sit out here while you chat it up with England about Black Magic! I want in on this!” Prussia said, jumping out of the jeep.

“Alright, but if you even embarrass me...” Germany warned.

“Don’t worry, Germany! I’m too awesome to be embarrassing. I mean just look at me.”

Germany rolled his eyes. “You’re too much, Prussia. Come on.”

After they rang the doorbell (which played Rule Britannia throughout the house) it took only a few moments before one of England’s many servants to come to the door. “May I be of assistance, sirs?” he asked.

“I’d like to speak with England, _ bitte _ ,” Germany answered.

“Do come in then,” the butler offered, opening the door wider for the brothers and closing it after them when they entered. “Please wait here a moment,” he said, exiting through the hall.

Inside, the house was gorgeous; dazzling chandeliers hanging from high ceilings cast their golden glow down upon the perfectly polished floors. Germany and Prussia stood awkwardly in the foyer, seeming out of place in such a lavish place while dressed in their military uniforms.

The servant returned in a matter of minutes and nodded politely. “Master Britain is in the upstairs study. He’ll be expecting you.”

“ _ Danke _ ,” said Germany, leading Prussia up the white marble staircase.

The study was easy enough to find. Germany had been here before for world meetings with the United Nations but it still felt odd. The heavy oak door was ajar but Germany knocked anyhow for fear of disturbing something important.

“Come in,” came a reply from inside.

Germany stepped inside, Prussia close behind him. England sat on the hard backed sofa, back straight, sipping a cup of tea from a dainty china cup. He looked up, bright green eyes peeking out from underneath his thick eyebrows. “Can I help you?” he asked nonchalantly.

“I need to ask you about your magic...” Germany began.

England cut him off. “Perhaps you’d better have a seat, both of you,” he said, gesturing to the two stiff chairs that sat across from him.

“Italy’s gone missing,” Germany explained as he sat, “and it’s highly likely that he may have...” he trailed off.

“Died,” Prussia finished.

Germany shot his brother a dirty look but continued. “Well, yes. And now I’ve come to you, England.”

“Let me guess, you want me to bring him back?” said England, some sort of emotion flashing in his eyes.

“I mean, it would be nice...”

“Hmm...” England thought, setting his teacup aside on its saucer. “That’s a difficult task... but... I think I may be able to help.”

Germany’s face lit up. “Would you!?”

“I might be able to do something for the right price.”

“I’ll pay anything,” said Germany.

“Anything?”

_ “Ja.” _

“Even your immortality?”

“What?”

England chuckled. “I’m bluffing, old chap,” he said. “Even though we were enemies in the past, this is peacetime. Of course I’ll help you bring Italy back. It won’t be easy. It’s actually quite risky.” He stood and walked to a dusty old bookcase. His hand slid along the shelf until his fingers found a large, brown, leather book. He picked it up and blew the dust off of it. He sat back down and opened it on his lap. “We’ll need to travel to the Netherworld,” he said.

“Where’s that?” Prussia asked.

“It’s the realm of the dead and the forgotten. This is the place immortal beings like us go when their time is up, when we disappear,” England explained. “We’ll need to open a portal... but...”

“But what?”

“We can’t enter as... the living...”

“What?”

“I’ll need to change us somehow... Into something accepted there...” England pondered. His eyes sparked. “I’ve got it!”

“You do?” Germany asked, still a little wary.

“Indeed! Indeed!” England cried, madly flipping the pages of his book. He stopped on a certain page and tapped it with his index finger. “Here!” He held the book up for them to see. There was an ancient illustration of the body of a man with wings jutting from his back. “Angels!”

“W-what?” Germany stuttered. “Angels?”

“I’ll need to transform us into Holy Guardians before we can enter the Netherworld,” explained England. “If not, we’ll be recognized and hunted down.”

“I’ll do it,” Germany said with a nod. “I’ll do anything to bring Italy back, I swear it.”

“West, are you sure this is a good idea?” Prussia asked. “Oh, hell. You won’t listen to me either way. I guess I’m in too. I can’t let my little baby brother go into some spooky portal without his big _ bruder _ there to protect him.”

England nodded. “It’s settled then. When shall we start?”

***

The next thing Germany knew he was standing in England’s basement as the Brit mumbled foreign words from his book over a pentagram carved into the floor. He watched in awe as the ancient symbols engraved into the musty hardwood started to glow and rise from the ground, swirling together into a neon green tornado. A vicious wind blew throughout the room, carrying with it the aroma of spices and dust.

With a sudden flash of bright light, the floor opened up into a swirling vortex of purple mist.

“It’s open!” England cried. “We don’t have much time! If we’re going to do this, we have to do this now!” He closed his book and tucked it away, sage-scented wind whipping at his messy blonde hair.

“Do we... Do we just jump?” Prussia asked, looking slightly nervous.

“Yes, we’ll transform on the way through!” England said, preparing himself for the plunge.

Germany shuddered at the word _ transform _ and almost reconsidered but then remembered there was a very good chance that, on the other side of this ominous looking portal, was his only friend in the world. He said a quick prayer and clutched his iron cross necklace for dear life as he flung himself into the violet nothingness.

He was followed by Prussia screaming “I AM AWESOME!” as he dove in, greyish hair streaming back, red eyes wild with excitement.

England was the last to leap and fell into the oblivion just before the portal closed, leaving nothing but a mess of papers covering the floor of the room.

***

Germany knew he had landed on something hard but there was softness against his face. He was afraid to look at the world around him; what if the Netherworld was a horrible place? What if there was nothing? What if he was dead?

“West!”

He wasn’t dead. And, clearly, neither was Prussia.

“West! This is so awesome! You have to see this!”

He opened his eyes as if coming out of a dream. The first thing he noticed was that Prussia stood a few meters away, huge, white, bird-like wings sprouting from his shoulder blades. He flapped them a few times, hovering above the ground for a second before falling back down. “It takes some work but I’m pretty sure we can fly with these!”

The second thing he saw was the sudden change of wardrobe his brother was clothed in. Where a military uniform once was had been replaced by a white tunic embossed with golden thread, identical to the one he found himself dressed in.

He sat up and noticed that something felt odd against his back, like feathers. He looked back and, sure enough, saw pale yellow wings attached to his upper back. They were the same color as his hair, he realized, and incredibly soft to the touch. They were like another muscle and, with a bit of flexing, he was able to lift them and move them to his will. He stood and stretched his wingspan. “This is amazing... How...”

“What are you doing down on the ground!? You have wings! Use them!” England shouted from somewhere. Germany and Prussia looked up to see the Brit flying high in the sky, swooping and doing loops with his feathery blonde wings.

“Where are we, England!?” Germany called up to him. They were in a strange, misty land. The sky was white with blue flecks like little stars, zipping around the stunning orange and pink sun. The grass was a dark, emerald green that faded to silver as it sprouted; brown and gold trees grew up from the hard ground. Huge, shimmering white stones were plentiful, scattered around the hilly terrain like natural tombstones. Other than the soft sound of a far away wind, the air was still.

Carefully, England lowered himself to the ground, landing gracefully on his feet. “The Netherworld.”

“Ah,” Germany said, blinking at the dancing blue stars as they waltzed across the blank sky. “I see.”

“Now try flying!” England shouted, taking off again. He did a barrel roll. “It's absolutely brilliant!”

“Okay, back up, West, I'm gonna take a running start!” Prussia shouted, making some room for himself. “Here I go!” He sprinted for a few meters, flapping his wings harder and harder, before leaping into the air. He made it quite high before plummeting back to the ground with a hard _ thump. _

“Don't stop moving your wings,” England commanded. “They're what keeps you up”

“Right,” Prussia said, dazed from the fall, getting to his feet again. “I'll remember that next time.”

“My turn,” said Germany, firmly planting his feet and taking a starting stance. He took a few running paces and then jumped, using his wings to take him higher and higher into the air. He let out a quiet chuckle. “Extraordinary...”

England flew over to him. “Isn't it?”

Prussia joined them in the sky, taking special precautions to stay in the air. “Now what do we do?”

“We look for Italy,” said England.

Germany smiled faintly. “Italy...”  


	4. Chapter 4

The big house was as empty as empty could be. It seemed much more spacious without a constant stream of visitors or tenants and the bustle of life. Lonely, it seemed wrong. Emptiness did not fit the place.

_ Jingle, jingle, BANG! _ The front door swung open.

Italy was home.

He was, from head to toe, covered in dirt and he tracked muddy footprints on the dark, hardwood floor as he walked. His hair was a mess of tangles and a long cut ran from his hairline to his chin but there was still a smile on his face.

“Germany!?” He cried, running upstairs. “Are you here, Germany!? I'm back! You won't believe the crazy stories I have!” He raced to Germany's room and threw open the door. “Germany I-” He stopped, seeing it empty. “Germany?”

He walked over to the bed, smoothing out only wrinkle that had formed in the neatly made sheets. He turned and started towards the closet. He noticed that Germany's suitcase was missing, along with an assortment of his clothes.

“Where did Germany go?” he found himself saying aloud, the sound resonating through the empty house.

“WHO'S THERE!?” a sharp voice came from behind.

Italy yelped and spun around. “It's just me, Italy!” he gasped. “Japan!”

A look of shock crossed Japan's face as he went pale and dropped the samurai sword he had defensively pulled out. “Italy? Is it really you?”

“Yeah! It's me!” Italy said, beaming. “Where is everybody?”

“Gone,” Japan said, his voice catching slightly as he stepped closer to the Italian. “They went looking for you...”

“For me?”

“Italy, it's been weeks! Where have you been?”

Italy laughed. “Oh, well, funny story! You see, somehow I must have gone kind of loopy and out of it after the plane crashed because I ended up at Ukraine's house! I tried to call you guys but there wasn't a phone there! So, I hitchhiked my way across the East and here I am now!” He looked at Japan with a sunny smile.

Japan didn't smile back. “Italy, don't you understand?”

Italy frowned and cocked his head. “Understand what?”

“Germany thinks you're dead.”

“W-what?”

“He's gone to the Netherworld to save you.”

“The... the what?”

“The land of the dead,” Japan said grimly.

Italy gasped. “No, Japan! You're lying! He wouldn't!”

“It's true!” said Japan. “He sent this telegram before he left.” He took a crumpled piece of paper out of his pocket. “He and Prussia went to visit England who opened a portal to the afterlife. I don't know when or how they're getting back.”

He handed the paper to Italy who read it over and over, hoping to find some other meaning in the words. His eyes welled up with fat tears. “We have to go and get him, Japan!”

“But how? England's gone with him.”

“Maybe he's not the only one who knows how to open the portal! Maybe we can find somebody else to do it!” Italy jumped up, determined and headed for the door. “I'm going to find him before he gets hurt because it would be really bad if something bad happened because of me!”

“Where are you going?” asked Japan, following Italy out of the room.

“To Big Brother France's house! Maybe he'll be able to find someone to help me!”

***

“Italy!” France cried as he threw open the door. “I'm so glad to see you! Are you okay!? I thought you were in an accident!”

“Francy Pants! I need your help!” Italy said. “Is England the only one with magical powers?”

France leaned in the doorway and fingered his beard as he thought. “Umm... Perhaps not... There is _ one _ person I know who shows... Potential...”

“That's good enough! I need to open a portal!”

France's eyes grew wide. “A portal? _ Mon Dieu... _ That's a little... extreme... isn't it?”

“No!” Italy nearly shrieked. “Germany's in there and we need to get him out!”

“Calm down, Italy! Where is he? Come inside and have something to drink and tell me everything. I'll do my best to help with whatever I can,” France offered, leading Italy inside, guiding him by his shoulders.

The interior of France's house was more lavish than anything ever. Lush red carpet covered the floor; the white, floral wallpaper was accented by pink, decorative drapes. The whole place smelled of roses and exuded the feeling of intense love and compassion.

France showed Italy into the sitting room where plush, scarlet sofas anxiously awaited  and the white marble coffee table was already set for company with two glasses of wine and a platter of cheese and crackers.

Italy awkwardly sat on one of the sofas as France sat across from him. He observed the refreshments with suspicious uncertainty. “Were you expecting someone?”

France glanced down at the wine and cheese. _ “Non, _ this is nothing but feel free to help yourself if you'd like.”

Italy politely declined.

France shrugged and picked up one of the glasses, bringing it to his lips and sipping the dark red liquid. “Anyhow, go on. Why do you need to save who from where?”

“Well, Germany thought I died and he went to the afterlife to save me but it turns out I'm not really dead after all and now he's in the Netherworld with Prussia and England, looking for me and we have to get him out of there before he gets himself hurt or worse for no reason!” Italy rambled.

“Uh-huh...” France mumbled. “I see... So... You need someone else to open the portal since _ Angelterre _ is... preoccupied.”

_ “Si!” _ said Italy.

“Well, I think I'll be able to help, I just have to make a few phone calls, alright, _ mon ami?” _

***

They arrived at the rusty, metal mass in the late afternoon. The sun shown brightly, high above the ocean, making the chilly water feel warmer than it would have otherwise.

“Is this even a country?” Italy asked as they waded through the shallows to the hull of the sea fort.

“Mmh, technically not,” France said, “but he considers himself a sovereign nation so there's not much we can do about it.”

“Ahoy there!” a childlike voice rang out from above.

Looking up, they saw a young boy in a sailor's uniform, waving from the railing he was perched on.

“Is that him?” asked Italy.

France sighed and nodded. _ “Oui. _ That's Sealand.

“What brings you to my country today!?” Sealand shouted down as he heaved his visitors aboard via pulley system.

“International affairs,” France said once he was on the deck, pulling Italy up after him.

“Black magic,” said Italy.

“Oh!” Sealand giggled. “Well you've come to the right place then! Come on! I'll show you my room! I hardly ever get visitors here!” He sprinted towards a small metal door. “Come on!”

France and Italy followed him into a small cabin furnished with nothing but a little bed and desk set. Sealand pounced on the bed and spun around to face the two. “So what do you need my magic for? Has my dummy of a big brother messed something up?” he laughed.

“Sort of,” said France. “He's not here at the moment so we need you to open up a portal to the Netherworld.”

“The Netherworld? Like where people go after they die? That sounds tricky,” Sealand pondered. “But I think, if anyone can do it, it'll be me!” He beamed.

France smirked and sat next to the boy on the bed. “Ah, Sealand. Sometimes you remind me so much of England.” He affectionately patted his head.

Sealand stuck up his nose. “Well, I don't think so. The only thing we have in common is our accents and our dumb old stupid eyebrows,” he pouted.

“Oh, _ gerçon, _ I see much more than that.” France smiled. 

“Well, shove off,” Sealand grumbled.

“Aaaaanyhow,” Italy butt in, “can we go help Germany now?”

“Oh! Right!” Sealand said, jumping to his feet. “I think I have just the thing to do it!” He rummaged through a toy chest in the corner of the room until he produced a thick, old-looking book. “Here it is! I got it from Mum for my birthday! I don't remember her much but I remember this book!” He flipped through the pages until he found the page he wanted. “This is it! The _ Angelus Interitum _ spell! Now I haven't had much practice with this but I bet I can do it with a minimal amount of damage! Ready everyone!?”

“Wait! Shouldn't you prepare or something first?” France cried.

“Why would I? I'm Sealand!” He spun in a circle, beginning to chant the strange sounding words in the book. Italy closed his eyes tightly as the spice-scented wind began to blow.


	5. Chapter 5

“Any idea where we are, Genius?” Prussia complained as he dredged behind his brother and England. “We've been walking for an hour at least and I'm tired.”

“Man up, Kraut,” England snorted. “Didn't you used to run around trying to conquer everything back when you were the Teutonic Knights?”

“Yes,” Prussia panted, “but I am, admittedly, older now and, although I am still awesome, I'm not as young as I used to be.”

Germany looked up at the hot, pink sun, using his wings as a visor to shield his eyes from the harmful rays. “Prussia's right. Maybe we should stop for a while,” he said. “Just for a little bit though. Who knows how large this place is and we've got to keep moving if we're going to find Italy as soon as possible.”

“It should cool down later, that is, assuming the sun sets in this place,” said England, trotting over to a natural shelter formed by several huge, white rocks.

“I imagine it would,” Germany thought aloud, sitting in the shade of the stones. “It only makes sense that the realm of the dead experiences it's  moments of darkness.”

Prussia stretched out on the smooth ground. “Well, I'm going to take a nap now so wake me up when something awesome happens, okay? Okay. Goodnight,” he said, rolling over.

Germany and England sat in silence after Prussia had fallen asleep. After a long while, England finally spoke.

“So, uh, you really want to rescue Italy, huh?” He kicked himself for asking it after the words left his lips. Of _ course _ he really wanted to rescue him. Otherwise, they wouldn't be risking their lives by braving the unexplored regions of the Netherworld looking for him.

“More than anything,” Germany answered. “I can't...” he struggled to find the right words to use. “I can't... I just... Without him... I don't have anyone else who really understands me...” He swallowed hard.

“I wouldn't usually peg Italy as an overly understanding fellow,” England chuckled.

“Hmm,” Germany hummed, gazing out across the foreign landscape. “He is. He's... accepting...”

“Accepting, huh?”

_ “Ja, _ he really is.” He was silent for a while. “He's my best friend, England. What would you do if you lost your best friend?”

England thought for a moment. “My best friend? I don't really think I have a best friend... In all honesty, I think the one person who's been with me through everything would have to be... Well, it would have to be France... But I wouldn't call him my best friend by any means.”

“Oh?”

“We used to be friends, back when we were just kids,” he smiled wistfully, “but those days weren't meant to last, obviously. Now he hates me, just like America.”

“He doesn't hate you,” Germany said. “If he really hated you he wouldn't stick around.”

England sighed. “That's funny.” He was quiet for another moment. “I guess you're right though.”

Germany grunted in agreement and nodded. “Next time you see him you should tell him that you care about him.”

England scoffed. “Yeah, right. If I did that, the frog wouldn't let me live it down.”

“You should still tell him,” said Germany. “There's so much I wish I would have said to Italy... If only I had known he was going to... If that was the last time I would have gotten to talk to him I would have...” He trailed off when he started to get choked up. “I'm sorry,” he managed.

“It's alright,” England comforted him, lightly patting him on the back. “It's okay for you to feel sad about it but you've got to remember, Germany. We've made it this far. If he's here, we can bring him back.”

Germany forced a smile. “Thank you.”

“It's quite alright!” England said, cheerily.

“I mean it,” pressed Germany. “You're the only reason I'm going to be able to get him back and I owe you everything because of it.”

“It's no trouble, really,” England replied, staring out across the hilly terrain.

***

England woke up to the sound of harsh, German yelling.

_ “Nicht Sie wieder! Was machst du hier!?” _

_ “Herr Römischen Reiches! Herrin Gallien! Ist es wirklich wahr!?” _

When he opened his eyes, he noticed two new faces. One was a tall, dark haired man with wings to match. He was scruffy but handsome and wore bronze armor with a red cape. The other was a beautiful woman with short blonde hair, sand colored wings, and bright green eyes. She was clothed in an orange dress with a green cloak.

The woman caught his gaze. “Ah!” she said in a distinct French accent. _ “Angelterre! _ Is it really you? Look how big you've gotten!”

England rose to his feet. “Do I know you?”

“Well, of course you wouldn't remember me! You were just a little kid when I last saw you! I'm Gaul,” she said. “France's mother.”

England blinked at her. He could definitely see the resemblance between her and France. They both had the same hair and the same face shape. It felt strange for him to find this woman beautiful when she looked so much like her son.

Gaul giggled at England's quizzical expression. “What's that look for, _ Angelterre? _ You seem scared. Don't worry, I don't bite.”

“I... It's nothing... Nothing,” England grumbled, blushing.

Gaul elbowed the dark haired man. “Rome, look. It's Britannia's boy!”

“Oh! It' is! Little Baby Eyebrows! I made love to your mother at least twice!” Rome cried.

Gaul punched him in the ribs. “Rome! Don't say those things! Look at him, he's horrified!” She motioned to England who was nearly blue in the face from embarrassment.

Germany cleared his throat, interrupting the nonsense. “Rome, I need to speak with you. Privately. Now, preferably,” he said, scowling.

Rome nodded and stretched. “Okay, okay.” He let Germany lead him a few meters away and engage him in hushed conversation.

“Hmm...” Gaul hummed, observing Germany from a distance. “Germania's youngest is slightly... bitter, isn't he?”

Prussia glanced at his brother. “Sometimes. He's kind of a rule-crazy control freak but I still love him.” He looked as if it physically pained him to admit it. “Even if he is a dick.”

“You can't really blame him for being strict though,” England cut in. “Look at the position he's in.”

Gaul nodded. _ “Oui. _ He's got to carry on in the shadow of everyone who's failed before him.” She glanced at Prussia. “No offense.”

“None taken,” answered Prussia. “I was just too awesome to represent a country as bland as that.”

“You have an older brother too, don't you, Prussia?” asked England.

“I _ had _ five. Hesse, Holstein, Brandenburg, Saxony, and Bavaria. They're all gone now though. All that's left are the two youngest, me and West. And, to be honest, I don't know how I managed to stick around as long as I have. It's probably because I'm so awesome.”

“What about The Holy Roman Empire?” England asked, absently playing with the sandy feathers of his wings.

A sort of fire flashed in Prussia's eyes at the mention of the name. “We don't talk about that,” he snapped. “Never, _ ever _ bring him up again.”

England was curious, however, and wasn't about to let a touchy subject like that slide. “What happened to him?”

“He died,” Prussia said quickly.

“But if he was younger than y-”

“HE'S DEAD, OKAY!?” Prussia turned away and angrily paced back and forth a few times.

Gaul swatted England's arm. “ _ Angelterre! _ Where are your manners? Can't you see he doesn't want to talk about it?”

“I'm sorry,” said England. “I was just wondering what happened, that's all.”

Prussia sighed. “It's alright. Try not to bring it up again though. At least not around certain people.”

“Certain people?”

“Germany.”

“Oh.”

There was an awkward silence amongst the three as they observed Germany's quiet conversation with Rome. They watched as Germany blushed and Rome nodded sagely with a goofy grin plastered on his face, patting the young country's shoulder knowingly.

“I wonder what they're talking about,” said England.

Prussia laughed. “Isn't it obvious? West is totally talking about Italy.”

“How can you tell?”

“He always has that stupid look on his face when he mentions the kid.”

England observed Germany's expression from the distance. He looked sheepish, almost childlike, looking up at Rome with his blue eyes much softer than their usual sharpness. “What's the story behind them?”

“As in how they ended up as friends?”

“As in what's between them now.”

Prussia snickered. “It's a mystery, isn't it? I don't even think they're sure. I know Germany isn't. I doubt he even knows how to read his own emotions.”

“Gaul! We have a quest to go on!” Rome cried, sprinting back to the shelter, his dark brown wings fluttering with excitement. 

“A quest?” Gaul asked, cocking her head. “What kind of quest?”

“We're going to find my grandson!”

“Little Italy? He's here?”

_ “Ja,” _ Germany answered. “There was an accident and... and I'm pretty sure he's gone. It's my fault and I need to bring him home with me.”

Gaul nodded. “So that's why you're here. I was wondering why you were suddenly Holy Guardians.”

“Holy Guardians?” asked Prussia.

Rome made hand gestures towards his back. “The wings,” he said. “Anyhow, we need somewhere to start so I suggest we go find the soothsayer.”

“The who?”

“The soothsayer at the fountain of truth.”

“Can you please explain?” Germany asked, getting a little fed up with the vague descriptions.

“There is all sorts of magic here, things that don't exist in your world anymore. One, for instance, is the soothsayer at the fountain of truth. The fountain itself isn't very impressive but the soothsayer can answer any question presented to her.”

“So we're going to ask here where Italy is?” asked England.

“Exactly,” Rome answered.

“And where is this fountain?”

Rome pointed roughly to the north. “That way I think!”

“You _ think,” _ Germany scoffed, following the two ancients across the next hill.

 


	6. Chapter 6

It didn't take Italy very long to get used to his wide, auburn wings. Sealand figured it out even sooner and was speeding through the sky, whooping with delight before anyone else was off the ground.

France, particularly, was having trouble adjusting to the idea of having wings.

“ _ Très belle!” _ They're beautiful,” he said, admiring the pale, silky feathers, “but I just can't seem to get them to _ fly _ .”

“Come on, Francy-Pants!” Italy giggled from above, flying down closer. “It's not that hard. Just flap! See?” He flew around a bit as if to prove that it was easy.

_ “Oui, _ I know but I can't get up any higher than this.” He pushed a few inches off the ground, hovering for a few seconds before touching back down. He sighed, smoothing out the yellow feathers with the palm of his hand. “Maybe these wings are just like _ moi. _ Beautiful to look at but utterly useless,” he sobbed into his arm.

Italy landed next to him, putting a concerned arm around his shoulders. “Aw, Big Brother France! Don't cry! If you don't want to fly, we can walk, okay?”

“Walking's for ninnies!” Sealand shouted as he zoomed by, overhearing Italy's suggestion. “I like flying so much better! Yahoo!” he shot straight up into the air. “Look at me! I'm a seagull!”

“We don't have time for that!” Italy cried. “We have to find Germany!”

Sealand touched down beside him with a heavy thud. “Alright! Let's go!” He started to march ahead, every so often happily beating his tiny, tawny wings. “But don't think for a minute that I'm going to be walking this whole time! Just because France can't fly doesn't mean I can't either!” He defiantly kicked off the ground as France burst into tears all over again.

***

Hours had gone by by this point and France had finally figured out how to move his wings at will. _ “Non! _ I'm serious! I think I can do it now!” he cried, positioning himself for takeoff. “Just wait! Just wait!” He wiggled his bottom and leaped into the air, carefully flapping his wings until he was nearly two feet off the ground before collapsing into a  pile of feathers and Frenchman.

“That was much better this time, France!” Sealand said, encouragingly as he hovered overhead. “Maybe next time you'll be able to fly as high as I can!” He flew up into the sky once more before dipping lower and doing barrel rolls past his companions. “But I don't suspect it! Because _ I'm _ Sealand and nobody is as good as me! And _ that's _ why I should be recognized as my own country! Because I'm amazing!”

“I think you'd get along quite well with Prussia...” France said, rolling his eyes. “You both think so highly of yourselves...”

_ “Shhh!” _ Italy hushed them, tilting his head to the side as he listened into the warm breeze that brushed past his ear. He stood that way for several minutes, taking in every little sound in the atmosphere.

The thought passed through France's mind that, indeed, Italy had never in his career as a country been this quiet, thoughtful, and determined. At least, not in his presence.

“Do you hear that?” Italy said after a long while.

“Hear what? I don't hear anything,” said Sealand, landing beside him.

“Voices...” said Italy.

“You know, Italy, if you're hearing voices you should probably see a professional about that. I know a great psychiatrist in Paris that you could go to,” France said. But then he heard them too.

There was a woman and a man talking about nothing important, just chatting for the sake of company. And they seemed to be getting closer.

“What should we do?” Sealand whispered, hearing the voices at last. “Should we hide?”

“There's nothing but rocks to hide behind!” said France, looking desperately around at the barren landscape. “There's nowhere to go!”

“Act natural!” Italy cried, sticking his hands in the pockets of the light cotton pants he had awoken in and began to whistle an Italian tune.

When the man and the woman rounded the corner the first things they noticed were the three boys all walking in circles with their hands stuffed in their pockets, whistling songs of various origin.

The woman was beautiful and strong-looking with her light brown hair pulled back into a loose braid. Her wings were the same color as her hair and she wore an elegant blue dress.

The man was tall and muscular with long blonde hair and matching wings. He wore a light gray tunic and sandals.

“Are you alright?” the woman asked. “Are you lost? Are- Sealand!?”

“MUM!” Sealand rushed over and hugged his mother around the waist as she pulled him into a tight embrace.

“Oh, my baby!” she cried. “What are you doing in a place like this?”

“Italy's looking for Germany!” Sealand answered, snuggling into his mother's arms.

“Germany?” said the unfamiliar man. “My son is here?”

Italy noticed that this man bore a striking resemblance to his best friend. “You're Germany's father!?”

“My name is Germania. And yes. You must be Rome's grandson, Italy, yes?”

_ “Si!” _ said Italy. “Boy, am I glad we ran into you out here! I need to find Germany!”

“Why is he here?” Germania asked gruffly.

“Well,” Italy said, stretching out the word like it had a million letters, “it's kind of a long story... Me and Germany were going flying in his airplane and something went wrong and we crashed and I got lost and Germany thought I died and for some reason he thought it'd be a good idea to get England to bring him and Prussia here to look for me but then I found my way back to his house and Japan told me he came here and I don't want him to get hurt so that's why I went to Big Brother France's house to see if he knew anyone who could reopen the portal and as it turns out, Sealand could and so we all came here and got these super cool wings just to save him before he does anything too quickly because sometimes he doesn't think before he does things when he's angry or else he thinks too much and pulls a brain muscle and goes a little bit cuckoo if you know what I'm saying but I don't know why he came here to look for me in the first place because I figure, without me around, Germany could get a lot more work done even though he says he likes me but Romano told me that he doesn't and I really hope he does like me because he's my best friend and I-”

“You really are Rome's heir, aren't you?” Germania grumbled. “You don't shut up, just like him.”

Italy frowned. “And you must be Germany's dad because you're grumpy just like him,” he shot back.

Germania was taken back for a moment but then let out a rough chuckle. “You're alright.”

“I'd like you all to meet my mother!” Sealand cut in.

The woman smiled. “I'm Britannia.”

“That's right,” said France. “You're England's mother.”

Britannia smiled and nodded. “Yes, I am, France. Your mother and I were good friends and still are. How are you and England getting along?” 

France shrugged. “He still hates me, I still think he's cute, just like it always has been.”

“Aw,” Britannia cooed. “Poor dear. My little angel shouldn't be acting uncivilized enough to hate anyone. Especially someone who thinks highly of him. If he's even acting like he did in those damned pirate days...”

“Easy, Britannia,” said Germania. “That wont be of any help now. I think we should go with the boys to-”

“Of course we should go with the boys!” Britannia shrilled. “I can't imagine why we wouldn't! I have every intent to spend as much time with my little Sealand as possible!”

“That's understandable,” Germania grumbled, “but I think we should help them find my son... or sons? You said Prussia went with Germany?”

_ “Si,” _ said Italy. “That's what Japan said. And he wasn't at Germany's house so that must mean he's here.”

_ “Mien Gott...” _ said Germania. “Prussia hasn't been all there since his dissolution...”

France shuddered at the word _ dissolution _ . The term wasn't entirely foreign to him. In fact, he had almost dissolved himself at several points in history. It was a common trend with empires. He knew Germania, Britannia, Rome, and even his mother, Gaul had disappeared. The only reason Prussia had managed to stay alive was because Germany had taken him in and let him become part of his country before he entirely faded away.

“We should start on our way now. I want to find the boys before they end up in trouble,” said Germania.

“Did they use the _ Angelus Interitum _ spell?” Britannia asked, the question directed at Sealand.

Sealand shrugged. “I don't know, Mummy. I know I did but England might not be as smart as me.”

Britannia giggled. “Oh, Sealand, you and your brother are so alike.” She kissed him on the cheek.

Sealand wiped the kiss away with the back of his hand. “We are not! France said that too earlier and I told him to shove off because it's not true!”

Britannia frowned. “Watch your language, mister. That isn't nice. Apologize to France.”

“But Mum!” Sealand complained. “We are _ not _ similar!”

“I don't care, it's impolite to tell someone to shove off, no matter what,” scolded Britannia. “Now apologize before I get to the count of three or _ else. _ One... Two...”

Sealand sighed furiously. “Fine, Mother.” He turned to France, pouting, nearly covering his face with his wings. “France, I'm sorry I told you to shove off.”

France laughed and ruffled the boy's hair. “It's alright, _ gerçon,” _ he said.

Sealand pouted for a moment before his face lit up. “Mum! Want to see me fly!? I'm really good at it!”

“You can show me on the way, dear. We have important places to be right now. Your brother could be in trouble,” Britannia said, petting her son's hair, smoothing down the flyaway hairs. “Germania, where should we go?”

Germania looked up at the misty sky. “The fountain of truth.”

 


	7. Chapter 7

 

America was bored. He hadn't been this bored since the Great Depression when he couldn't afford to do anything fun. He had been trying to call England all day but no one was answering the phone. He even attempted to get a hold of France to see if he knew where the Brit was but he wasn't home either. Resignedly, America took a spot in front of his television and stuffed his face with potato chips.

“I don't get where everyone is,” America said to his best friend, Tony, an alien who had taken up residence in his home after his spaceship crashed in Roswell. “I mean, sure, it's not like I'm torn up over them not answering my calls or anything but seriously. Where is everybody!?”

_ “Fuck-ing,” _ Tony answered, unwrapping a candy bar.

“Yeah, I know,” said America. “And it's not like I'm worried about them or anything, I just wanted to call and make fun of them. But still.” He finished off the bag of potato chips and wiped the grease from his hands onto his pants.

_ “Fucking fuck-ing.” _

America sighed. “Yeah, you're right. It's probably nothing.”

_ “Fucking.” _

Just then his phone rang. It was at his ear before he could even check the caller ID. “Hello!?”

“A-America?” a soft voice answered.

“Canada? Is that you?”

“Y-yeah. I was just wondering if you knew where France was. He won't answer his phone and I have an important issue with Quebec that I need his help on,” Canada said timidly.

“Naw, bro. I've been calling England all day but I keep getting his stupid voicemail,” said America. He got up and meandered into the kitchen.

“Gee, I hope they're alright. What if they got into some trouble?”

“Nah,” said America, “they're probably just making out or something.”

“America!” said Canada. “Th-that's disgusting!” the blush was practically audible in his voice.

“Hey, you never know. They have that whole love-hate relationship going on.” He rummaged through his cabinets, trying to find something to snack on since his potato chips were gone.

“That's true b-but I think we should check on them to see if they're alright, eh.”

“Ugh. Fine,” America groaned. “Come over to my house and we'll see where we can get from there.”

“O-okay. I'll be right over,” Canada said.

“Mmhmm...” America said, only half listening at that point. There were more important matters at hand, like the piece of chocolate cake calling his name from the counter top.

“Okay, I'll see you in a few m-minutes,” said Canada.

“Yeah, bye Canada,” America said, sampling the frosting from the cake. He hung up the phone and searched through his silverware drawer for a fork.

_ KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK! _

“I'm coming! I'm coming!” America said, abandoning the cake and heading to the door. When he opened it, there stood his shy, blonde brother with a smile on his face, holding Kumajirou, his plush polar bear. He waved.

“Hi, America.”

“Hey, Canada. That was fast,” America said, rolling his eyes.

“W-well, I live right next door. I can see your house from across my front yard.”

“Right... Well, come on in.” He stepped aside so his brother could get through the front door. “Make yourself at home. Do you want anything? I've got burgers and soda in the fridge?”

“O-oh, no thank you,” said Canada. “I thought we should get going as soon as possible in case France and England really are in trouble.”

“I'm sure they're fine,” America said. “We should at least let them finish having sex before we barge in on them.”

Canada frowned. “T-that's not funny, A-America.”

“Actually, it was pretty hilarious,” America said, opening the hall closet to produce his dark brown bomber jacket. “But, anyhow, let's go. We'll check England's place first and then cross the channel to France's.”

“Okay, that sounds like a good plan,” said Canada. “How'r we going to get there, eh?”

“The same way I get everywhere! C'mon!”

***

Canada pulled his aviators down over his eyes so the wind didn't cause him to tear up as it whipped his hair back. “America!” Canada cried, barely audible over the engine of America's new biplane. “M-maybe you should let me f-fly for a while!” His stomach lurched as America pulled the plane into another barrel roll.

“Did you say something?” America asked, glancing back at his brother, grinning.

“M-maybe you shouldn't fly s-so r-recklessly!”

“I'm not flying recklessly! _ This _ is flying recklessly!” America whooped and sent the plane speeding straight down towards the ground as Canada clutched Kumajirou to his chest and screamed.

At the last minute, before they crashed into the unforgiving depths of the Atlantic Ocean, America pulled up again, showering them with a spray of seawater before shooting back up into the sky.

“A-A-America... W-what... the h-hell... is w-wrong... w-with y-you?” Canada finally spoke up, shaking with fear and anger.

“Sorry! I can't hear you over the sound of my freedom!” America shouted, laughing like a maniac.

“S-sometimes I hate you s-so much...”

“Well, deal with it for a little while longer because we're almost to England's house.”

“I s-swear... W-when we l-land I'm g-going to k-kill you...”

“Come on, broseph. Don't be such a pussy,” America said, rolling his eyes.

“M-maple! I am _ not _ a pussy!” Canada growled.

“I-I a-am n-not a-a p-pussy!” America mocked. “I-I'm f-from C-Canada a-and I-I th-think t-that m-means I-I m-make th-the r-rules o-of e-everyone e-even th-though I-I'm j-just a-a st-stupid m-moose l-lover, e-eh!”

“I do _ not _ sound like that!”

“Do too!

“Do not!

“Do too!

“Do not!”

“Okay, Canada, listen, obviously I'm right because I'm America and I'm the hero sooo... suck on that, maple-boy!” America said with a cocky smile, laughing.

“Sorry, I didn't hear you! I was too busy not paying for healthcare!” Canada snarled.

America frowned. “Shut up, Canada. That's a low blow.”

“Tell it to your divorce rate, fatass.”

America didn't know what to say. He wasn't used to Canada talking back like he was. All the comebacks he had prepared only worked for England who was the usual one who fought him on things. “Oh yeah? Well, at least I'm not a pothead!”

_ “Ex _ **_cuse_ ** _ me?” _

“You heard me!”

“Listen to _ me, _ you lazy sack! Just because you have a big economy and an even bigger ego, does _ not _ mean you're _ better _ than everyone else! If you were truly superior you wouldn't be several trillion dollars in debt to people like China and Japan! I have free healthcare because I believe people shouldn't have to pay the government for getting sick or injured! I have equal marriage rights, because people shouldn't be told how or who to love! And I legalized marijuana, _ not _ because I'm a pothead, but because I recognize the medicinal and practical properties of the cannabis plant! So, if you want to call me a pothead, remember who controls the best side of Niagara Falls, asshole!”

America was silent for a while before finally speaking. “That sounds like something a pothead would say...”

When they arrived at England's house, America had bloody nose.

America grumbled something into his collar as he rung the doorbell of England's manor and waited for a response. He was greeted by the butler.

“Ah, good afternoon Master America and... other sir... I'm sorry but Master Britain isn't available at the time being,” the butler said.

“Jeeves, listen,” America said, leaning in the doorway. “Whatever the limey bastard's doing can wait, cuz this is important.”

The butler glanced, disdainfully up at the young country before him. “I do apologize but he isn't home.”

“Aw, come on!” America cried. “You're paid to do this kind of stuff! He's avoiding me, isn't he? If this is even about the Revolution again...”

Canada swatted America's arm. “America!”

America turned. “What?”

“You're being rude.” He turned to the butler. “Did he happen to say where he was going?”

“He did leave a note...” the butler said, carefully.

“What did it say!?” America interrupted.

The butler produced a slip of paper from his shirt pocket and read it aloud:

_ “To whom it may concern, _

_ “If you're wondering where I've gone off to, I can't say exactly. I can only put it in the simplest possible terms and bluntly say that I've gone to the Netherworld. It's no accident that I've gone to visit the land of the dead, I'm merely doing a favor for our German friends and will return, hopefully unharmed, when the deed has been done.   _

_ “If this is France, stay out of my house, stay out of my room, and stay out of my bloomer drawer. And, also, I hate you, frog. _

_ “If this is America, stay out of my house, stay out of my room, and stay out of my gun safe.  And my kitchen. And, also, I hate you, git. _

_ “If this is Sealand, stay out of my house, stay out of my room, and stay away from my friends. And, also, you're not a real country so shove off. _

_ “With the utmost sincerity, _

_ “The United Kingdom of Great Britain _

_ “(England)” _

“Huh...” America said. “He was pretty thorough, wasn't he?”

“MAPLE!” cried Canada, “Oh, maple!” He paced back and forth on the porch, squeezing Kumajirou tightly to him.

America shot him an uneasy glance. “What is it?”

“They can't be in the Netherworld! They can't be!”

“Why not, Canada?” America gripped him by the shoulders, shaking him slightly. “What's wrong with the Netherworld?”

“It's a horrible place, America!” Canada exclaimed.

“Isn't it a little country in Europe?”

“W-what?”

“The Netherworld.”

“N-No?”

“Yes there is! It's by Germany, right?”

“America, that's the Netherlands.”

“The what?”

“The Netherlands.”

“What's the difference?”

“The Netherlands is a country. The Netherworld is full of dead people.”

“So there's no dead people in the Netherlands?”

“You're kind of missing the point, America.”

“Am I? Because I'm pretty sure I'm not.”

“I'm pretty sure you are.”

“Is the Netherworld in Europe or not!?”

“No! It's another dimension!”

“Well, you could have said that in the first place!”

“I was trying to!”

By this point the butler had closed the door on them and gone back inside the house to attend to his other servant duties. America noticed and yanked on the doorknob.

“It's locked!” he exclaimed.

“We don't have time for this! We know where he is now we have to find France!” said Canada.

“I still don't get what the big problem is? So England went to the Netherworld with Germany and Prussia. Why is that worthy of a big 'maple' episode from you?” America queried.

“I'll tell you later,” Canada said. “Now, we just have to make sure France is okay.”

“I have a question,” America interjected, putting a hand on Canada's shoulder.

Canada shot him a dirty look, getting closer to his last nerve with each word out of America's mouth. “What is it, America?”

“We're brothers, right?”

Canada blinked. “Y-yes. We're twins.” Canada had always known that America wasn't the sharpest tool in the shed but he assumed he had understood the concept of their brotherhood by then. Apparently not.

“Well, yeah but, you were raised by France, right?”

“R-right.”

“And I was raised by England.”

“Yeah.”

“And since I'm convinced that those two have a _ lot _ of angry sex-”

_ “America!” _

“Relax, bro, lemme finish my goddamn sentences. Jesus Christ, you can be pushy sometimes, Canada.”

“America...”

“See? There you go again!” said America. “Anyhow, like I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted, would France and England be like our parents?”

“U-uh...”

“I think France would be our mom... No, maybe England would. I mean, sure France _ looks _ the girliest but England tries to do all the household stuff. He sucks at it but he _ likes _ it... Like cooking... Maybe we could just call England 'Dad' and France 'Papa?'” America mused, thoughtfully.

“America, you're seriously twisted,” Canada said dryly after a long pause on his behalf. “And, plus, that's completely irrelevant.” He absently patted his stuffed bear on the head.

“Is it?” America grinned.

“Yes! And, if we don't hurry, we might not have a 'dad' _ or _ a 'papa!'” cried Canada. “So let's cross this channel and get to France's house before it's too late!”

***

America stooped down to sit next to Canada on the front doorstep of France's empty house. “Sooo... France is in this Nether-something-or-other place too?”

“Yes, America.”

“Aaaaand why is this important again?”

“Be _ cause, _ America,” Canada all but hissed, burying his face into Kumajirou's snowy white fur, “our kind can't go into the Netherworld safely. There are... others... there...”

“Others?”

“The Other Color...”

America cocked an eyebrow at his brother. “Wow, Canada, that's kind of racist.”

Canada punched him in the arm as hard as he could. “I didn't mean it like _ that!” _ he growled. “According to legend, the Netherworld is an alternate universe of sorts. And, within another universe there are alternate versions of ourselves, only these ones are slightly different in color.”

America rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Like different hair color and eye color and skin tone?” he pondered.

Canada nodded in agreement. “For the most part, yes.”

“And how do you know all this?”

Canada looked down at his feet. “W-well, there was a book... written by the ancient people of my land... A-apparently, they've seen the... the Other Color... And, to keep them out of our realm, they created a barrier of colors and light to deter them.”

“You mean the Northern Lights?”

“Y-yes...”

“So the Northern Lights are a magical wall between our world and the Netherworld?” America asked, looking skeptic.

“According to legend, yes.”

“Canada, that's so stupid.”

“Stupid or not, it still might mean France and England along with the rest of the countries in the Netherworld might be in great danger.”

“Why though? I mean, if I saw my Other Color self, I would be like 'hey! You look like me only different colors!' and continue on with my life,” said America.

“But _ he _ wouldn't, America!” said Canada. “The Other Colors aren't... They aren't like us... They're usually much more violent than we are... They are the guardians of their realm and they'll kill anyone who doesn't belong there.”

“Well, damn...” America said, rising. “We should probably save them!”

“But how!?” asked Canada. “England and Sealand are the only ones I know of with the powers to get us in and they're already there!” He jumped to his feet and looked desperately at his brother.

“We'll find a way in! I'm the hero and a hero doesn't let his allies die in an alternate universe!” America puffed out his chest and grinned brilliantly, staring into the sun for added effect. He took off running down France's long driveway. “C'mon Canada!”

Canada rubbed the back of his neck and sighed. It was probably best to stick with his brother at this point. “Wait up! I'm coming!”


	8. Chapter 8

 

Russia had just finished knitting two beautiful blue scarves for his older and younger sisters, Ukraine and Belarus, respectively. “Latvia! Lithuania! Estonia!” he called to the three Baltic states residing with him. “Come here, please!”

The trembling trio shuffled into the large, violet-eyed man's study. “Y-yes, Mr. R-Russia, sir?” Lithuania asked, shaking like a leaf.

“Lithuania, you and Estonia come here and try on these so I can see how they will look, _ da?” _ said Russia, smiling and holding up his knitting.

“W-what?” Estonia stuttered. “But those are-”

“I know what they are, Estonia, and I am telling you to wear them so I can admire my work, okay?”

Reluctantly, two of the Baltics trudged forward and allowed Russia to drape the fabric around their necks and arrange it to his liking.

“What do you think, Latvia?” Russia asked, putting an arm around the smallest of the trio.

Latvia jumped at Russia's touch. “O-oh! I, uh, I think it looks great M-Mr. Russia, sir! Some of your b-best work, really!”

Russia nodded. _“Da,_ I am thinking so as well. Lithuania, turn around so I can see how the back is looking.”  
Lithuania spun around in a circle, nervous tears streaming down his face.

“Yes, I think it is looking good.” Russia put his hands on Estonia's shoulders, grinning at him. “This color suits you well, Estonia! You should try to wear it more often.”

“U-uh, y-yes, Mr. Russia, sir!”

Suddenly, without warning, America kicked the door down, with a loud bang. Estonia screamed at the noise and caught a sobbing, startled Latvia who jumped into his arms. Meanwhile, Lithuania was face-down in the carpet, fainted from fright.

“Russia, America and I need your help with something,” Canada said as America turned and picked the door up and fastened it back onto its hinges.

Russia smiled at his unexpected guests. “Oh! Hello America and Canada! How may I be assisting you today?”

“Do you know anything about the Netherlands?” America asked.

Russia looked confused. _ “Da...?” _

Canada pinched the bridge of his nose, frustrated with the incompetence of his brother. “The Nether _ world, _ America. The Nether _ world.” _

“Oh. Right,” said America. “Russia, do you know anything about the Netherworld?”

“Oh,” Russia said. “Then yes again. I do.”

“Do you know how we can get there, eh?” asked Canada, nervously toying with Kumajirou's paws.

“But why would you want to be going to such a place as that?” Russia glanced around, but then decided that the Baltics wouldn't care if they heard. “That is where The Other Colors live...”

“You know about that?” asked America. He put his hands on his hips and cocked his head to the side. “Am I the only one who didn't know about this!?”

“Obviously not because we've got six other countries trapped in the realm,” said Canada. “If England, France, Germany, Prussia, Italy, or Sealand had known about this little problem, they wouldn't be there in the first place.”

“I am quite surprised that Mr. Britain was not knowing of the danger there is being,” pondered Russia. “He usually is aware of such things mystical and beyond.”

America shrugged. “Yeah, well, he's a dumbass. Anyhow, we need to save him and the others before they end up getting themselves seriously injured-”

“Or worse!” Canada finished, ignoring the angry glance he gained from America.

Russia was silent for a while, deep in whatever thoughts filled his mind at the moment. When Russia was quiet he looked almost childlike. The giant of a man usually seemed much younger than he, in reality, was. No one would say it but they knew that the horrible past that his country possessed had broken him long ago and that his mind wasn't quite right anymore. And, yet again, no one would mention it to him. Not only did they fear his wrath, but it didn't seem right to remind him of what past events occurred that he could not control and how they affected him, caused him scars, both mentally and physically.

“I do not have magic like England has,” Russia finally spoke, “but I do have a way in.”

“You do?”

_ “Da. _ There is a way to get in through the aurora.”

“There is?” asked Canada. “The lights are visible from my place and I've never known about it. Are you sure?”

Russia nodded. “Yes, you just have to be doing it the right way. Come with me.”

***

America had to admit that the Northern Lights were beautiful when viewed from the Russian tundra. He had seen them before, in Alaska, his great, northern state, and when visiting Canada's house, but they meant something different this time.

Russia walked ahead, followed by Canada, and America took up the rear, gawking at the rainbow of colors overhead.

“Hello, Aurora!” Russia said with a wholehearted wave to the sky.

Canada and America stopped. He couldn't be serious, right? Talking to the lights? They completely rethought that, however, when the aurora began to swirl and reshape itself in the sky until it had formed the words _ “Hello, Russia.” _

“How are you today?” Russia asked the lights, smiling.

_ “Fine, thank you. And yourself?” _

“Oh, I am doing good. I have a favor to be asking of you.”  
_“You are not alone, Russia.”_

“Ah, yes, I know. I'd like you to meet two of my very good friends, Mr. America and Mr. Canada,” said Russia, motioning to the twins. “America, Canada, this is Aurora.”

“H-hello,” Canada whispered.

“Hi!” said America.

_ “Oh, I recognize you now,” _ the lights wrote. _ “Neither of you have spoken to me before.” _

“I-I'm sorry,” Canada said, timidly. “I just didn't know you could talk back...”

_ “I can. Anyhow, Russia, what favor do you ask of me?” _

“These two need to cross into the Netherworld to save our friends,” said Russia.

“Wait!” said America. “You're not coming with us?”

Russia shook his head. “No, I am not. It is a very scary place and I do not think I would be liking it there very much at all,” he said. “So you two will have to be going alone without me.”

“O-oh...” said Canada, paling slightly. “W-well, alright then. America and I should be able to do it alone, r-right, America?”

“I guess so,” said America, squinting up at the aurora.  

_ “You are aware you will transform upon entering the Netherworld?” _

“W-what?” asked Canada, visibly confused.

_ “It's painless, I promise. You just have to take another form to avoid the Other Color. They will not hesitate to kill you if they get the chance. Do not give them that chance.” _

“W-we won't.”

_ “Then I can cross you over. Are you prepared?” _

Canada hugged Kumajirou tightly. “I-I guess I am. What about you A-America?”

America nodded to the lights. “I'm ready if you are.”

“Alright, good luck then,” said Russia putting a hand on each of their shoulders. “I am rooting for you, okay? Try not to die.” He glanced at Kumajirou. “You should probably be leaving that here. You probably won't have it when you come back if you don't.”

Canada nodded and reluctantly handed his stuffed bear over to Russia. “T-take good care of him.”

“I will. I promise.”

The aurora sunk lower and lower until it touched the ground, bright pinks and greens dancing amongst the snow. The colors compacted into a swirling vortex of misty light.

“Is that the portal?” asked America, stepping closer to it as Canada backed away.

_ “Da, _ ” said Russia, “it is. Go on now and save the day, yes?”

“O-okay, eh,” said Canada, shuffling forward to catch up with America. He reached out and took his brother's hand with frigid fingers. Together, they stepped through the portal, into the unknown.


	9. Chapter 9

It seemed as if they had been walking forever and, in all honesty, Germany thought maybe they had. The scenery went on and on, always unchanging, never leading anywhere. His guides, however, seemed to know exactly where they were going as they trekked through the barren landscape, every so often chatting to one another or pointing out something to the younger countries.

“We're close,” Gaul said, suddenly, stopping in her tracks.

“I guess we are,” Rome agreed, observing the area where they stood. “The fountain should be around here somewhere.”

“Over there, perhaps?” suggested England, motioning towards a small valley shrouded in the bushy, metallic trees.

Rome tousled his hair. “I think you may be right. Good job, Eyebrows!”

“Meh,” England pouted, fixing his hair. “No problem.”

Germany started towards the grove of trees, the sudden anticipation of finally finding out whether his entire journey was worth anything or not hitting him full force. Reaching the brush, Germany had to tuck his wings in close to his body so they wouldn't snag on golden twigs and silver brambles.

Prussia followed after his brother, tearing through the scrub, not caring if he lost a few snowy white feathers in the process.

“Be careful, Prussia,” Rome advised, noticing the loose down clinging to the thorns. “You don't want to damage your wings too much or else you wont be able to fly.”

Prussia heeded the warning and tucked his wings in, still following Germany until they came to a small clearing.

The forest floor was alive with color as little flowers danced amongst the emerald grass, sparkling with blues and purples and yellows and pinks. In the center of the tiny meadow stood a white fountain, crystal clear water trickling from its top tier and pooling into the next before streaming down into the bottom in a never ending cycle.

A beautiful woman sat on th edge of the fountain, braiding blossoms into delicate wreaths. She looked up, examining the group with her olive green eyes, unfolding her dark brown wings, revealing them to be intertwined with ivy and flowers, much like her hair, which fell in chestnut tresses down her back. 

“Grecia,” Rome greeted with a bow.

“Roma,” she replied, rising to curtsey in return.

“You remember Gaul, yes?”

“Yes, I do.” Her eyes found the pastel blue of the Frenchwoman and she nodded in acknowledgment. “How do you fair, Gallien?”

“Very well, thank you,” Gaul replied. “Do you remember these boys, Grecia?” She motioned to Germany, Prussia, and England, who stood awkwardly to the side.

“Germania's youngest sons... And... Britannia's?” Grecia looked confused, as if she hadn't had contact with people for a very long time, as if her memory was fading. And the way Rome and Gaul were treating her, asking her questions and praising her when she answered correctly, seemed to hint that she wasn't quite in the right state of mind.

“This is Ancient Greece,” Rome explained to the boys. “Or, Grecia. She's the soothsayer.”

Grecia began to hum to herself, absently plucking a flower from the ground and bringing it to her nose. Her eyes looked vacant and glassy.

“What's wrong with her?” England whispered to Gaul.

“She's been mentally deteriorating for years, for as long as she's been the soothsayer, actually. Rome thinks its the solitude getting to her. Ancient Egypt suggests that the herbs she uses to induce her visions aren't safe. We're not certain, however,” Gaul replied, looking sadly at the dark haired woman.

“We must consult your prophecy,” said Rome, carefully approaching Grecia, as if she might attack him if he moved too quickly. He grabbed onto Germany's arm, jerking him along with him.

“What are you doing?” Germany hissed, fighting Rome's grip.

“You have to ask her.”

“A-about Italy?”

“Yes.”

“Oh,” said Germany. “Well, what do I say?”

“Just ask her.”

Rome released his arm and gave him a slight nudge forward.

_ “Guten tag,” _ Germany mumbled, warily stepping towards the soothsayer, avoiding eye contact and, instead, averting his gaze to the ground. “My name is Germany and I have a... I have a question to ask you.”

Grecia nodded. “Proceed.”

“W-well, I was just wondering if... um... if my... my friend Italy is here or not. Do you know if he is?” Germany muttered.

Grecia closed her eyes and took a deep breath in. “I see... I see your friend...”

“You do!? Is he okay!? Is he here!?”

“Only one question at a time, Germany,” said Gaul. “Let her finish.”

Germany acknowledged the advice and turned back to the soothsayer, watching as her eyelids fluttered and she twitched and jerked in spastic movements.

“He is here... and he... he is not alone...” She suddenly tensed. “But he is in danger... grave danger...” Her eyes flew open, foggy white, clouded over. “You are all in danger! You must leave this place! Leave this place _ now!” _ she screamed before collapsing into Rome's arms as he suddenly appeared behind her. He stroked her hair and held her until her eyes cleared and she came to.

“That was quite an intense vision,” said Grecia. “I think I need to rest now.”

Rome nodded. “Yes, take a nap, dear. You've done enough for now.” He laid her down in the crisp grass where she curled up and fell fast asleep almost instantaneously. He faced Germany and put a hand on his shoulder. “That's enough. No more today.”

Germany nodded wordlessly and all but fell into Prussia.

“West? Are you alright?” asked Prussia, wrapping his wings around his younger brother, spinning him around to look him in the eye. “What's the matter?”

“I really did kill him, Prussia...” Germany said, on the verge of tears once again. “He really did die! I thought maybe he would still be alive after all but no! He really died!” He broke free from Prussia and turned away.

“But we're here to bring him back and that's all that really matters,” England cut in.

Germany gestured towards Grecia who still lie on the ground. “You heard what she said though! He's in danger! We're _ all _ in danger and it's my fault we're here in the first place!”

“Calm down,” said Gaul. “Nobody is in danger here. I don't care what was foreseen, you're safe with us.”  

“I'm going to find him though! Before he gets hurt!” Germany spread his wings to their full span beating them until he rose from the ground, hovering for a few minutes as his eyes met Rome's.

“Germany...” Rome said sternly, stepping towards him. “Don't...” 

“Forgive me,” Germany managed, darting away through the sky as fast as his wings could carry him.

“West!” Prussia cried. He took a running start to take to the sky when England stopped him.

“He'll be fine! We'll find him before danger does.”

 


	10. Chapter 10

Germania stooped close to the ground and examined that bare footprints that had been imprinted into the ground. And then feathers, white feathers, caught amongst the thorn bushes. “Someone's been here.”

Britannia plucked a plume from the briars. “White,” she said, shooting a glance to Germania who still knelt in the dirt, poking at the soil. “Who has white feathers?”

“Scandinavia, perhaps?”

“No, hers are more blonde than this. These are almost... silver...”

Germania finally looked up, got to his feet, and took the feather from Britannia's hand, holding it up to the dazzling sunlight that filtered in through the trees.

“That's got to be Prussia's,” France said, coming up from behind.

“Hm?”

France flicked the feather. “Prussia's. That's the color of his hair.”

“Are you sure?” Britannia asked.

_ “Oui,” _ France confirmed.

“Then we're on the right track,” Germania said, pushing ahead, through the next patch of brush. “They must have just come through here.”

“Then that means we're close to Germany!” Italy jumped in, excitedly bouncing off the ground. _ “Ve! _ That's happy!”

“Well, what are we waiting for then!” cried Sealand, tugging on his mother's sleeve. “Come on! Let's go and save the day!”

Britannia chuckled and took her son's hand. “Patience now, dear. We've still got a ways to go, I'm sure.”

“What's in there?” Sealand asked, curiously poking around in the scrub, catching a glimpse of the clearing.

“That's the fountain,” Britannia explained.

“Are we going to go in there?”

“Yes, honey.”

Without saying a word, Germania picked up the tiniest country and placed him securely on his shoulders. Sealand giggled and held fast onto Germania's hair like reins.

“Okay! Onward!”

Britannia laughed and patted the other ancient power on the arm. “You've always been so good with children.”

Germania just shrugged, proceeding through the brush into the clearing.

Upon entering the meadow, the fountain was visible, bubbling and clear.

“Grecia?” said Germania, looking around for the soothsayer. “Where are you?” He spotted her then, sprawled out in the grass, asleep.

Britannia rushed to her, shaking her gently to wake her up. “Grecia? Are you alright?”

Grecia's feverish green eyes flashed open. “Britannia?”

“Yes,” Germania said, letting Sealand down, and helping Grecia sit up. “What happened?”

“Roma came... With Gallien... and... the one who looks like you...”

“Germany then?” Germania asked. “What about Prussia and England?”

Grecia nodded. “Yes. Them as well... The one who... Germany... He asked a question... about the...” Her eyes met Italy's. “You.”

Italy rushed forward. “Me? What about me?”

“He seemed very upset... He cried.... and then... and then he flew away,” said Grecia, staring wistfully at the sky. She suddenly stiffened. “There is danger, however. Much danger. It isn't safe here for either of you.”

“But he's okay, right?” Italy demanded. “He's not hurt or anything?”

“Not yet, but if he stays he will be.”

“Then lets go find him and get out of here!” shouted Italy, furiously flapping his wings, rising a few feet off the ground.

“Italy, calm down,” France said, brushing him with his hand. “We'll find him but shouldn't rush into things. If there really is danger...”

Italy touched back down. “I'd rather me be in danger than him,” he pouted.

Germania's eyes flashed. “You'd risk your life to save my son?”

“It's why I'm here, isn't it?” said Italy. “And he's done the same for me. I made a promise to him when we became allies.”

“What was it?” Sealand asked, tugging on Italy's tunic, obviously intrigued by the drama.

“My promise? Oh...” He chuckled lightly, remembering a time in the past when things were less complicated. “It was nothing really. I said if he was ever in a pinch I would swoop in and save him and he promised that he would get me out of trouble... which he has.” His eyes fell upon Germania. “Hey, Germania?”  
“Hm?”

“Can I talk to you about something?”

Germania shrugged. “Sure, I guess.” He led him away from the group so they could speak privately while France and Britannia helped Grecia to her feet.

“Now, you're sure you're alright?” Britannia asked, holding the woman steady.

Grecia nodded. “I am fine. Those boys though...”

“Don't worry _ Mademoiselle _ . We'll make sure they're safe,” France assured. “I won't leave here without Italy and I guarantee he won't leave without Germany. They love each other or something.”

Britannia smiled at the last sentence. “Don't assume, France. Let whatever happens, happen on its own.”

“That is strange,” Grecia said.

“What?”

“Nothing,” she said, staring absently at the grass. “It is just funny what will happen in the future.”

“I thought it was going to be dangerous?” asked Sealand.

“And it will be,” said Grecia. “After you find each other... But I fear for Germania's son...”

“Germany?” France asked, getting a little nervous. “What's wrong with him? Is he okay?”

“There is a... Prophecy...”

“A prophecy, Grecia?” asked Britannia, taking Sealand's hand. “This is news to me. Please explain.”

“He will be faced with the ultimate choice, where he must trade a life for the life of his friend. If he acts upon his deepest emotions, he will fail and good will die. However, if he is a true hero, he will reunite twins alike and safely return home. But either way, someone will die. It is only his choice of who it will be,” said Grecia, olive eyes boring into her audience's immortal soul.

“That's so... _ malheureux...” _ France said slowly. “Unfortunate, I mean.”

Britannia glanced at Italy who was talking to Germania in wild, Italian hand gestures. “I would advise us to hurry. I think it will be safer for everyone, especially Germany, if we find the others as soon as possible,” she said to no one in particular.

“HEY, CAN YOU FINISH TALKING SOON AND HURRY UP!? WE'VE GOT PLACES TO BE!” Sealand shouted.

Italy and Germania returned to the fountain with the others. “Where are we going?” asked Italy.

“Have you found out anything else about my son?” Germania queried.  

“Only the amount of actual danger he's really in,” said France. “We need to find him. Right now.”

Italy nervously wrung his hands around the tips of his wings, losing a few chocolate-colored feathers in the process. “Let's go then! I need to see him and hug him and make sure he's okay because I'm worried about him a lot!”

Britannia put her hand on his back as a gesture of sympathy. “I know, dear. And I'm sure he'll want to see you and hug you and make sure you're okay too because I know he's very, _ very _ worried about you.”

Italy felt a lump fill his throat as he blinked away tears. “I know,” he choked, a tear rolling down his cheek.

“Don't cry,” Britannia said, hugging the boy. “It'll be alright.”

“I know,” Italy sniffled, “but I really miss him and I'm sad because he put himself in all of this danger because of me.”

“He did it because he cares about you, Italy.”

“But if things go badly, who's fault will it be?”

“It won't be anyone's fault Italy,” said Britannia, “because nothing bad is going to happen. We still have time to save Germany before he's even in any danger, alright?”

Italy nodded through his tears. “Okay,” he sighed. “I just want to find him as soon as I can.”

“We will.”


	11. Chapter 11

Germany landed behind a large, white rock after flying for what must have been ages. He wasn't sure why he ran (or, rather, flew) away like he did but, whatever the reason, it hadn't done him any good in the end. As of then, he was tired, alone, and, unbeknownst to him, in grave danger.  

His wings were sore. Apparently, they weren't used to being used so much and, just like any other muscle, they could tear. It felt nice to rest under the shade of the rock but, after a while, the sun began to set, and a chill set in. It was lucky, however, to have wings at times like those because Germany merely wrapped himself in his own feathers and fell fast asleep.

He didn't sleep for very long, though, because, after only a few short hours he was awoken by an eerie cry in the distance.

_ “Ooooeeee!” _

He jolted upright, tensing at the noise. He listened but didn't hear it again so he figured it was just the wind howling and he warily fell back into a light sleep.

_ “Ooooeeee!” _

That time, he was absolutely sure he heard something and it was definitely _ not _ the wind. He sat up, using his wings to shield himself against the cold night breeze. He examined his surroundings as well as he possibly could. It was much darker at night in the Netherworld than Earth was. And, subsequently, more frightening.

As the air chilled him from the inside out, Germany really wished he was still wearing his thick, green military uniform. At least  then, he would be protected from the elements. Unfortunately, however, modern clothing, especially military, would make him a target to whatever malicious beings dwelled in this mysterious land that he had been repeatedly warned of.

After a few minutes of hearing nothing, he debated going back to sleep to dream of better days and forget the cold. Though, as soon as he closed his eyes...

_ “Ooooeeee!” _

That was the last straw. Not only was this far off cry disturbing his sleep, but it was creeping him out. He got up and listened. He didn't hear anything, as expected, but he did _ see _ something that he found quite intriguing.

In the distance, where he could tell the grassy land met desert, eight tiny lights rose from the sand and hovered in the sky for a few moments. Each one was a different color: blood red, magenta, white, lavender, green, violet, dark blue, and hot pink.

The violet light rose the highest into the night sky while the pink one moved constantly, swarming around the others, especially the blue and red. The white one lagged behind, the green tried desperately to keep up with the pink, and the magenta traveled in synch with the lavender light.

They were a truly fascinating sight and Germany found himself watching them for longer than he intended to. He was only interrupted by the cry he had been hearing for the majority of the night.

_ “Ooooeeee!” _

He made out a kind of “r” sound that time and possibly an “mmm” and an “ah.” The beginning of the cry didn't sound quite as “oooo” anymore as it did “eeeee” either.

_ “Eeeeeeermmmmmaeeeeeeeee!” _

And he definitely heard an “n” too just then.

_ “Eeeeeermaaaaaaaneeeeeeeee!” _

Hold on a second.

Finally, after hearing the shout for as long as he had, he understood it. “Oh!” he said aloud, realizing how stupid he'd been not to understand the cry the whole time. Someone was looking for him.

_ “Germaaaaaaanyyyyyyyy!” _

Yes, he could definitely hear it that time. He flew a few meters into the air to see if he could catch a glimpse of who was calling for him. It was a fruitless effort, however. Whoever they were, they were too far away. Instead, all he could see was barren land and the eight, mysterious lights.

He sighed, returning to the ground, the dew of the grass chilling his bare feet with every step as he started off across the landscape once again. It was amazing how much light from the dual white moons reflected off of his wings, making them look almost silver.

As he walked, heading nowhere in particular, his mind began to wander. That's the strange thing about silence, especially at night. At first, he thought of his brother, who was more than likely the one calling his name. He was aware that it wasn't very adult of him to run away like he did. He knew for sure that Prussia would be worrying. And Rome... Rome knew his secret. Hopefully without him around, the ancient power wouldn't be tempted to reveal such things to his companions. He wouldn't be able to live it down if he did. Then he thought of Italy.

Italy.

The only reason he was venturing through lands as uncharted as this was because of him. He couldn't help but wonder, however, if Italy survived the crash and _ he _ was the one who needed saved, would Italy come to rescue him?

After a moment of thought he decided that the question was irrelevant. It didn't matter who was saving who as long as best friends would be reunited in the end.

He was lonely. Alone, wandering the hills in the dark and the _ silence. _ Oh God, the silence. He could barely stand it. He recalled a time, though, not so long ago, when he would have given anything for a moment of peace.

Specifically, the day in which Russia came. The day he decided to take Italy up in the plane. The day of the accident. Thinking back, his stomach turned to ice as he remembered his exact words, only hours before he lost his best friend.

_ “Quit it, Cat. Can’t I have any peace!? Can’t I go five minutes without someone following me or tugging at my sleeve.” _

It had been much longer than five minutes. It had been ten days. Well, eleven now, as dawn began to break along the horizon. The words resonated in his head and he came to a conclusion: be careful what you wish for.

“I didn't mean it like that!” he screamed to the bruise-colored sky. “I didn't want you to take him away from me!” And then the ground met his knees very suddenly. He balled his hands into fists and hunched over as if in pain. He cried out in absolute anguish, a loud, guttural sound that echoed through the valley in clear reverberations. A wave of grief rushed over him, nearly stronger than the brokenheartedness he felt at that first moment when he realized Italy was gone. Shivers of anxiety ran up his spine and his heart began to race. Those godawful moments replayed in his mind all over again.

_ “I promise to keep you safe, okay!? Italy, you have to trust me!” _

_ “Germany, there’s nothing you can do now.” _

_ “I'm sorry, _ vetter _ , that's all we could find.” _

_ “We checked everywhere, Germany. He’s not out there,” _

_ “What if you find something you wish you hadn’t?” _

_ “He’s not coming back.” _

_ “Italy...” _

All those visits from Japan and Austria and Prussia and Romano, their words flooded his subconscious, resounding in his ears just like they did the first time, breaking him to pieces on the cold, hard ground. He fell forward, his defenses collapsing just like the Berlin Wall, aftershock set in and he turned to putty, helpless, shivering putty.

“West!? West, are you alright!? Goddamn it, West! Get up!” Prussia's bony hand gripped his shoulder tightly, pulling him back, solidifying his liquid self. “Come on, Germany! Say something, don't just sit there and look at me like that! Please, West!”

Germany was only vaguely aware that his brother had shown up and was now shaking him by the shoulders, trying to make sense of why he was in such a broken state.

“Come on, _ bruder! _ Snap out of it! What's wrong with you!? Germany!”

Germany noticed the tears streaming down his brother's cheeks and came back to reality. He touched Prussia's face. “Prussia?”

“Oh, God, West!” Prussia enveloped him in a vice grip hug. “What the hell!?”

“I'm sorry, I...”

“Shut up, Germany. Let's go.” Prussia let go of him and stood, extending a hand to his brother to help  him to his feet.

Germany noticed Prussia had brought the rest of the crew with him.

“I'm telling your father about this,” Rome said, scowling. He didn't look pleased. “That was very irresponsible.”

Gaul didn't look happy either but she didn't reprimand him. “Are you alright, Germany?” she asked, putting a motherly hand on his back. “You had us worried sick.”

Germany nodded. “I'm fine.”

“Prussia nearly had a fit, isn't that right, Kraut?” England said with a devilish grin, ducking before Prussia could hit him.

“Settle down, boys,” said Gaul. “The sun is rising and we'd better move if we want to find Italy, alright? Now, we haven't run into any danger yet but if we don't get going, it might catch up with us, _ non?” _

“Gaul's right,” said Germany. “If we don't g-”

“Shh! Shhh! Be quiet!” Rome suddenly hushed him.

“What? What is it?” England whispered, looking around for anything that might have triggered that reaction from Rome.

“Did you hear that, Gaul?” Rome asked.

Gaul shook her head. “No, what was it?”

“I could have sworn I...” Rome tilted his head as if he were listening very carefully. “Yes! Hurry! Behind that rock! Quick!” He scampered across the ground and hid behind a large white stone. He motioned for the others to follow. “Hurry up! Hide!”

Rome hadn't really been all that wrong about anything yet so England decided it was safe to trust him and ran after him, followed by the others.

“Listen,” Rome said in a harsh whisper.

This time the others did hear something. Walking, talking, and the fluttering of wings.

Someone was coming.

“Just stay calm,” Gaul advised. “It's probably just some other ancients. There are a lot of us here, you know.” She looked at Germany and Prussia with a nervous smile. “Who knows? Maybe it could be one of your brothers or even your father.”

England shivered in the early morning cold, peeking past the rock into the foggy dawn, watching and waiting.

It seemed like eternity before the unknown figures broke through the mist. There was a tall man with long blonde hair, a brunette woman holding the hand of a child, another blonde man followed and, last but not least, an auburn haired boy.

They were much too far away for Germany to make out any details of their features.

“I can't tell who the others are but that's my good friend, Germania right there in front!” said Rome, breaking into a grin. “They can't be bad guys if he's with them!”

Prussia shook Germany's shoulder. “Hey! West! That's dad!”

“Ah, right,” Rome said, thoughtfully fingering his beard. “Do you want to say hello?”

“Yes!” said Prussia, smiling ear-to-ear.

Rome nodded and stood, cupping his hands around his mouth so his voice would travel farther. “Hey! Germania! Yooooohooooooooo! It's me! Roma! There's someone who would like to say hello to yoooooooou!”

Germany rolled his eyes and slouched back against the rock. He could see why his father ditched that babbling empire hundreds of years ago.

But then he heard something that made his heart stop instantly.

_ “Ciao, _ Grandpa Rome!”

Gaul slapped her hands over her mouth as the group came just close enough to make out who was there. _ “Mon Dieu...” _ she gasped through her fingers. “I don't believe it...”

Germany unsteadily rose to his feet, his stomach in knots and his heart in his throat. The auburn haired angel that still stood at a distance... He would know that face and that voice anywhere. “Italy...”


	12. Chapter 12

Germany unsteadily rose to his feet, his stomach in knots and his heart in his throat. The auburn haired angel that still stood at a distance... He would know that face and that voice anywhere. “Italy...”

No sound came out of his mouth that time so he cleared his throat and tried again. “Italy!”

Italy looked up at the sound of his name. “Wha...” He stopped in his tracks, looking at the blonde man who stepped out from behind a rock, spreading his pair of huge, yellow wings. “Is... Ah...” he stammered. He suddenly broke into a huge grin. “Germany!”

There was an awkward moment of silence that spanned the yards of distance between them as each stared at the other from as far away as they were, unsure of what to do next or if this was really happening. Then they ran, full forced, towards each other until they met in the most powerful and impassioned embrace that either of them had ever given or received.

“Oh, Italy,” Germany whispered. “I was so worried about you! I thought I'd never see you again!”

“I got lost, Germany! I wasn't dead! But I came here looking for you because I didn't want anything bad to happen to you because... _ ti amo!” _

_ “Ich liebe dich auch,” _ Germany said. For the first time since the accident, he let himself cry. However, this time, instead of mourning tears, they were tears of joy. Of more than joy. They were tears that said “all is right with the world now that I've found you again.” And those are the best kind of tears.

“Germany, don't cry,” Italy said, nuzzling against Germany's shoulder, ignoring the fact that he, himself, was crying as well. “It's going to be okay now that we're together!”

_ “Ja, _ I know. It's because I'm happy.” A sob racked his body as he hugged Italy tighter.

“I'm happy too, Germany,” Italy said, smiling through his tears. “I missed you.”

“I missed you more... Italy Veneziano... I'm sorry.”

Italy looked up into Germany's eyes. “Why sorry? You didn't do anything wrong.”

“But I did,” Germany said, avoiding Italy's gaze, voice gruff. He cleared his throat. “I promised I'd keep you safe and look where we are now.”

“But I am safe, Germany,” Italy said. “I'm safe and you're here to protect me.”

Germany shook his head. “I didn't protect you then.”

“If you wouldn't have landed the plane in the water, we'd both be dead. You saved both of our lives,” Italy explained. “You're a hero, Germany.”

“I just don't know what I would have done without you, Italy. I don't think I'd be able to be the same because things have been so different since I met you. Hectic at times, yes... But different... A good different.”

“Best friends forever?”

Germany felt himself getting choked up again as past memories found their way into his mind. A dream, a note, a promise... all in the past now but all that mattered was that they happened. _ “Ja,” _ said Germany, tearing up again. “Best friends forever.”

A few feet away France shook his head and smiled. “Look at them, _ Angelterre,” _ he said, lightly socking England in the arm.

“Ah, yes,” said England. “They finally found each other. Which is great because I'm ready to get the bloody hell out of this place.”

France chuckled. “Me too, England,” he said, leaning against the Brit's shoulder. For once, England didn't push him away.

Britannia shot Gaul a smile.

“Ugh,” Prussia said, watching Germany and Italy hold each other like they were never going to let go. “They should just kiss already, jeez.”

Rome laughed and elbowed Germania in the ribs.

“Leave me alone,” said Germania.

“Awh! But look how cute they are!”

“Get out of my face.” 

Meanwhile, Germany cupped Italy's cheeks as blue and brown eyes locked on one another. “Let's go home.”

_ “Ve!~” _ said Italy. “Okay, Germany!” For some reason, when he looked so deeply into Germany's eyes his heart fluttered and so did his wings. He guessed Germany must have been able to hear the pounding in his chest because his cheeks and ears turned bright red. “Germany...?”

“I...” Germany started, not sure of what he had been planning on saying in the first place. “Y-yes?”

“I... I think you... um...”

“Yes?”

“N-nothing...”

“Oh,” Germany said. It came out sounding disappointed but he wasn't sure of what he was disappointed about. What had he been expecting Italy to say? Now, thinking about it only made his stomach do flips. His breath caught as he and Italy stood, pressed against each other, staring at one another with some sort of unidentifiable emotion in their eyes, wondering what to say.

_ Oh God, what to say... _

He settled for “Italy...”

_ “Si?” _ Italy looked up at him, blinking innocently.

_ Maybe I should just kiss him, _ Germany thought. However, as soon as the thought crossed his mind he wanted to punch himself in the face. That was no way for a _ nation _ to be thinking. It was one thing for France to have romantic relations with others, he _ was _ the nation of love, for Christ's sake. But Germany... Germany was the nation of... of well... anything but that.

Granted, yes, he had never felt an attraction to women but did that mean he was gay? Was Prussia right? Did he have feelings for his little Italian ally? No, of course not.

However, if that was true, _ why in the world _ were his lips looking so inviting?

_ Oh, _ so inviting.

Again, he considered just leaning forward and planting a kiss on those perfectly pink lips, just doing it for the sake of getting it over with. In fact, he _ very _ strongly considered it. He even tilted his head a bit for smooth transition just in case the unavoidable urge did happen again.

These subtle gestures did not go unnoticed. Actually, Italy was taking his own measures to make sure he was prepared if the opportunity did arise. He licked his lips. He wouldn't want Germany to think he needed lip balm. Then again, if his lips were wet, would he give sloppy kisses? He rubbed his lips together to try and dry them out again.

And he was so _ close. _ So close, he could taste the cold peppermint on his breath. His eyes met those impossibly blue ones once again. Was it getting awkward? They hadn't spoken in at least a minute. What else was there to say? He thought that Germany should just _ do it _ already and get it over with.

That's when Germany realized that they were being watched. He stepped away, glancing down, embarrassed. “Um... We should probably get going...”

“R-right,” Italy said, nervously beating his wings. “You know, hah... The prophecy foretold our doom, huh? Let's skedaddle.”

Germany chuckled sheepishly. “Yeah...”

They made their way over to the others. Germany headed for his father, to greet him for the first time in a very long time. Prussia stepped in front of him, however, grinning and raising his eyebrows. “West, d-”

“We'll talk later,” Germany grumbled, pushing past his brother. He stopped in front of Germania, meeting his identical eyes. “Father.”

“Son.”

“How have you been?”

Germania shrugged. “I've been fairing well, I suppose. And yourself? I take it you've seen better days.”

Germany glanced back at Italy who was showing off his aviation skills to his grandfather. “Actually, today's going pretty well now.”

Germania sighed. “Germany, there's something I've been meaning to say to you. I would have traveled to your realm if I wasn't so weak anymore.”

Germany didn't say anything, silently urging him on.

“Well, I know I wasn't there very much when you were a child but I'd like you to know why you're named after me. It isn't because I wanted my legacy to live on through you. I want you to make your own legacy, as I did. Don't follow in my footsteps or you will fall just as I have. I know this isn't the age of empires anymore but I still think you can be great. You've already surpassed me in brawn and bravery, not to mention military intelligence and sheer wit. You carry the strength of many in you, along with your own power. And, I want you to know that I'm proud of you, son,” said Germania, laying a hand on Germany's shoulder.

Germany smiled. “Thank you, father.”

Britannia looked up at the golden sky. “Perhaps you'd better get going,” she said.

“Why, Mum?” Sealand asked from his place on England's shoulders.

“Yes, why?” said England. “I'd like to spend some more time with you.”

Britannia smiled and kissed both of her sons on the foreheads. “And I'd like to spend some more time with you but you know it's not safe here. Both of you have heard Ancient Greece's warnings.”

England sighed. “That's true. I suppose we should be getting back. Except for.. uh...”

“What is it?”

“I hadn't really _ thought _ about how we're going to get out of here, actually...” He rubbed his chin, pondering ways to reopen the portal.

“Didn't you bring the book of spells with you?” Britannia asked, trying to hide her own concern.

“Well... No... The thought didn't seem to cross my mind...” England said, biting his lip.

“What!?” Sealand cried, pounding his fists against his older brother's head. “You didn't bring the book either!? I didn't bring the book because I figured _ you _ brought the book!”

“Oh no,” Britannia groaned. “How could you boys be so _ irresponsible!? _ How do you expect to get home now!?”

“Wait, what?” France asked, overhearing. “We can't get home?”  
“No, because my stupid dummy of a big brother forgot to bring the book that opens the portal with him!” Sealand yelled, pulling at England's hair.

“WHAT!?” France yelped, grabbing England by the shirt collar. “You idiot!”

England shrugged Sealand off his back, knocking the boy to the ground. “Well, maybe, if you didn't trust my stupid brother you wouldn't be in this mess!”

Sealand jumped to his feet and kicked his brother in the shin. “Hey! Don't blame this on me! I'm just a kid! _ You're _ the one who should have remembered the book in the first place!”

“Ow!” England shouted, bending down to clutch his leg where Sealand had kicked him. He thumped the boy on the forehead. “Shut up, git! You're not even a real country!”

“Wahh!” wailed Sealand. “Mummy! He's being mean to me! I am too a real country! Tell him! Tell him that I am!”

“Boys! Boys!” Gaul cut in. “Calm down! It's going to fine. We'll find a way to get you all home safely. It isn't like there's an evil force bent on destroying you.”

“THERE YOU GUYS ARE! THANK GOD WE FOUND YOU! WE HAVE TO GET OUT OF HERE! THERE'S AN EVIL FORCE BENT ON DESTROYING YOU!”

 


	13. Chapter 13

“America!?” England yelped, watching as his former colony raced over the nearest hill, tripping over his own wings, followed by his much shyer brother, Canada. “What in hell are you doing here!?”

“Canada!? You too!?” shouted France as his underling stopped in front of him.

“Yes!” Canada panted. “America and I came here to save you all! We have to leave _ now!” _

“What's going on?” Germania asked, interrupting him. “Who are you?”

“I'm America, greatest country on the planet, and this is Canada, but you don't need to remember his name,” said America. “I take it you're... Well, I don't really know who you are. You just look like Germany with really bad extensions.”

Germania's face turned three or four shades of red. “I am Germania, the great German Empire.”

“Yeah, still Germany with really bad extensions.”

“America, this is my father,” Germany said, stepping into the conversation.

America rolled his eyes. “Well _ that _ makes a whole lot of sense. Thank you for that dramatic realization, Germany. I would have _ never _ figured that out on my own. Please, enlighten me with your infinite wisdom.”

Canada jumped in front of his brother to save him from being hit by both Germany and Germania. “D-don't mind him! He's still a little grumpy from the t-transformation!”

Germania looked at him. “Who is this guy?” he asked Germany.

“O-oh, I'm Canada,” Canada answered. “Country of all things maple.”

Germania squinted at the little blonde country. “Well, what's this about dangerous forces of whatever?”

America pushed his brother out of the way once again. “The Other Color.”

Gaul gasped. _ “Non! _ You don't think they've...”

“If they've been roused by your arrivals,” said Britannia, “then you really must leave right away! If they find you here...”

“Wait,” England cut in. “What's the Other Color?”

“Picture yourself with a different color scheme, different hair and eyes. Now give this 'twin' a personality opposite your own and an instinct to kill. And who they are driven to kill is the main problem. They are the dark guardians of this realm. Their soul mission in their immortal life is to prevent their 'doppelganger' or, more specifically, each of you, from escaping this world alive,” Germania explained.

“So there's one that corresponds, so to speak, to each of us?” asked France.

_ “Si,” _ said Rome. “It never crossed my mind though. They've been dormant for hundreds of years. But, if your entrance into this dimension has awaken them, they'll be close behind you.”

“And now we're trapped here,” Germany said grimly, “with them looking for us.”

“Oh no!” Italy whined, tugging on Germany's wing. “We're going to die after all!”

_ “Nein,” _ Germany growled. “We can fight them, right?” He looked at his father for confirmation.

Prussia answered instead. “Of course we can fight them! We'll show them that they can't mess with the awesomeness which is Prussia's crew!”

“You have to be careful though,” said Germania. “This is their realm. They've got an advantage here.”

“We can still beat them, I bet!” Sealand cried, zooming through the air. “Then we'll get them to send us back home because winners always get a prize!”

“Y-yeah!” Canada said, nervously fluttering his pastel yellow wings. “We can do it!”

“Is that so? Canada, is it?” a sharp tenor voice floated from over the hill. “Well, we'll just have to see about that.”

The ancients lost color in their complexions. “They're here,” Gaul whispered. “We have to go. We can't interfere.”

“What? Wait! Mum!” Sealand cried but his mother, along with the other empires had vanished into thin air.

“Show yourselves!” America shouted, puffing out his chest.

And they did, rising over the knoll, in a strange, V-like formation.

“Here we are, 'Murca,” said the one in front. He was Canada's doppelganger, no doubt. He wore an unbuttoned, red jacket with slits cut in the back for his wings which matched his curly, pulled back, hair in a golden color, much darker than Canada's. His chest and abdomen were wrapped with bandages to heal broken ribs and a leather belt held onto his small, but deadly, spear, along with his tattered blue jeans. “I'm Matthieu.” He grinned at Canada. “Well, look at you, _ Canadia,” _ he snickered, purposely mispronouncing his name, flicking his sunglasses down over his eyes. “You're a big, ol' tough guy now with your pretty little wings, huh?” He turned around, revealing that his wings just as bandaged as his ribs, calling to someone behind him. “Hey, Al! Get a load of this!”

Another angel rose from over the hill, obviously America's Other Color. He had messy, dark brown hair and eyes even more red than Prussia's. He was shirtless aside from the leather jacket he wore, specially made to accommodate his wings. The sunglasses on his face and the jeans on his legs matched those of his brother. In his right hand he toted a strange weapon: a bloodstained baseball bat riddled with nails.

Al let out a loud scoff. _ “This _ is who we've been training our whole lives to fight!? This is pathetic!”

“Hey!” America yelped. “Don't talk that way about me! I'm the hero!”

Al flew closer to the group. “Why ever not, bro? I'm the villain,” he hissed through his grinning teeth.

“Okay, you had to see that one coming,” said England to America. “I mean, complete opposites and all...”

Al's face fell as he saw England. “Oh... It's _ you... _ Goddamn... I wish we had you around,” he admitted, “I'm not even going to lie.”

England was surprised. “Me? Why?”

“Because then we wouldn't have-”

“Hellooooooo everyone!”

Al buried his face in his hands. “Oliver.”

Everyone was taken back by England's doppelganger, it was nearly impossible not to be. Seeing dull, grumpy England as opposed to this Oliver fellow who looked like some sort of interior designer. It was disquieting.

His hair was strawberry blonde and his eyes were an eerie swirl of cyan and hot pink, his smile was huge beneath the spray of freckles covering his face. Unlike his comrades, he wore a full outfit, expertly tailored to fit his wings without looking ratty or tattered. This ensemble included a purple sweater-vest over a crisp, pink dress shirt, a neon blue bow tie, khaki pants, and loafers.

He rushed right up to England, who looked repulsed at the sight of him. “Ah!” Oliver cried, reaching out for a handshake. “It's so great to finally meet you!” He stared at his hand for a while, noticing that England refused to shake it. After about a minute he returned it to his side. “Not the handshake type, I see! That's quite alright, chap! I can tell we're going to be great friends though! I mean, just look at us! We're like twins!” He broke into a peal of hysterical laughter. “Well, of course we're like twins! Sometimes I can be so scatterbrained! Duh!” He slung his arm around his doppelganger.

“Please don't touch me,” England hissed.

“You're one of those people, ah?” Oliver said, still not removing his arm.

“Hey,” France said, stepping in before England exploded because Oliver just couldn't take a hint. “He doesn't like to be touched.”

Oliver's face lit up as he saw him. “Francie!” he gasped. “The fabulous version!”

“Wait, what?” France asked but, before he could get an answer, Oliver had tackled him onto the ground in a monstrous hug.

“Get off of him!” England cried, joining the dog pile.

“Oliver!” A new face appeared. France's twin.

Oliver stood up, brushing himself off with a lint roller he had produced from somewhere. “Francois! Look! It's you but different!”

Francois had platinum blonde hair and a much scruffier beard. His dark blue tunic went down to his knees and tattered jeans were visible from underneath. A cigarette dangled from between his lips, producing noxious smoke all around him.

He examined France with his piercing, dark blue eyes. “Why are you so flashy?”

“Why are you so bland?” France countered.

Francois blew a puff of smoke in his double's face.

“Leave Big Brother France alone!” Italy cried. “Why don't you pick on someone from your own dimension!”

“Eehehehehehehehe!”

“Luciano! Stop it!”

Down the hill, rolling in a ball of blades and feathers came Italy and Germany's doppelgangers.

“Eehehehehe, Lutz!” Luciano cried, pinning the larger, white haired man. He held a knife to his throat. “I win again! That means Knifey gets to draw more blood!” He slid the blade down Lutz's bare chest, leaving a trail of liquid red behind as Lutz winced in pain.

Once Luciano was done leaving a long cut on Lutz's pale skin, he brought the knife to his lips and licked it clean. He giggled, burgundy bangs flopping in front of his magenta eyes. He leaned down and kissed him, slipping him his iron flavored tongue. A quiet moan escaped him as Lutz bit down on his lower lip.

“Hey, wait, Germany, are they supposed to be us?” Italy asked.

Germany nodded, blushing heavily, at a loss for words.

Sealand's double joined them next as he tore over the hill, stumbling over his baggy overalls. “Oliver! Olllllliverrrrrrr!” he squealed, holding his orange striped hat onto his head, with one hand, brushing his red hair out of his bright green eyes and holding onto his tiny hatchet with the other.

Oliver, who had resorted to pestering Francois, turned at the sound of his name, reaching out his arms and catching the boy in a hug. “Paul, your country counterpart is here too! Look!” He pointed to Sealand who was watching carefully.

Paul buried his face into his older brother's shoulder. “No, Oliver! I don't want to look at him! He's stupid!”

“Excuse me!” Sealand yelped. “I am _ not _ stupid! I'll show you! Let's race and see who's the fastest! I'm a pretty good flier, just so you know!”

“Aw,” Oliver cooed. “You two are going to be as great of friends as England and I are going to be, right, England!?”

“NO!” England screamed.

“Now go play,” said Oliver, letting Paul down.

“Come on!” Sealand said, poking Paul in the arm. “Let's have a race!”

“No!” cried Paul, running away. “Leave me alone!”

Meanwhile, Prussia had met his doppelganger, Gil, and was completely astonished. “West!” he cried. “Have a look at this guy! He's like me only less awesome!”

“Can you all just shut up for like three seconds!?” Matthieu commanded. “There's a reason we're here, guys! We've been waiting our entire lives for this!” He glared, specifically at Oliver who looked down and frowned. “So stop being all _ buddy buddy _ with your counterparts and get over here! Now.”

Some, such as Francois, Al, and Paul went willingly while others, mainly Oliver, went with such reluctance that it could have been criminal.

“Okay,” Matthieu said once his group had reassembled, “now I think everyone knows why we're here today. This epic battle was foreseen so long ago and now it's finally here.”

“What battle?” Prussia asked, cocking an eyebrow. “And how come you know about it and we didn't?”

“The battle of the millennium!The battle where you will die and we will reign supreme! It was foretold!” Luciano explained, a sick smile playing on his lips. “Eehehehehe! Hand to hand combat is my specialty so,” his eyes met Italy's, “Knifey's going to have a field day today!”

Germany stepped forward. “Don't you dare touch him,” he growled.

Italy clutched his arm. “Germany, don't...”

“I promised to protect you.”

“This is different.”

“I can't lose you again...”

Italy took his hand and squeezed. “And you won't.”

Luciano broke into another twisted cackle. “You two! You're so weird! Do you honestly think you can _ save _ each other from this? You're all going to die just the same! You can't protect yourselves from us!”

“Maybe they're right,” Canada whispered to America. “They have weapons and what do we have?”

America checked his pockets. “Nothing.”

“We're doomed.”

“Ready formation!” cried Matthieu, shooting his fist into the air. His group reformed into the same v-formation they had arrived in. “Let the battle begin.”

 


	14. Chapter 14

 

France took the first hit: a punch in the jaw from Francois. He was absolutely amazed at how fast the man could move with his wings. He was like lightning, zipping back and forth with minimal effort, still managing to throw France off.

The first blow caught him off guard and knocked him down. While he was dazed, Francois took this time to land a kick to his teeth with his calloused heel. Before he could give another hit, a pair of hands grabbed him by the left wing and tossed him to the ground.

He rolled on his back and saw England standing over him, hands balled into fists. “Leave him alone,” he hissed, sandy feathers ruffled.

“Oliver!” Francois cried, seeing his freckle-faced friend standing off to the side. “Don't just stand there! Do something! The Brit is _ your _ responsibility!”

“Ah,” Oliver said. “I'm sorry!” He rushed over and slapped England across the face. “I'm sorry!” He apologized to England with each slap.

With the distraction, however, France had managed to get to his feet and throw a few punches of his own. He realized that Francois seemed to be taking the blows fairly well around the second hit. At the third he noticed the throbbing pain in his cheek. 

Francois laughed. “Do you feel what you're doing to yourself?” he chuckled. “See, you can't hurt us. This is our realm, _ mon ami. _ Whatever you do to us is doubled on you. Sprain my ankle, yours breaks. A simple scratch-” he grabbed a hold of France's hand and drug it down his own skin, leaving pink scratches on his abnormally pale arm, “-turns into a gaping wound.” He watched as the scratches mirrored themselves on France's arm, ten times deeper, blood trickling from the cuts as he hissed in pain. “You can't win.”

“Yeah, silly!” Oliver giggled, “The only thing that can hurt us are our own weapons!”

Francois smacked him upside the head. “You idiot! Don't tell them that!”

While Francois and Oliver were distracted, France grabbed England by the shoulder and pulled him behind the nearest rock, holding his injured arm, blood oozing between his fingers.

England, who was marked with hand prints from the slapping he had just endured, nearly fell onto France. “France, we need to get their weapons,” he gasped, spitting blood from his split lip. 

“But what are their weapons?” France whispered.

“Oliver has blade in his shirt pocket. Francois has metal padding under his clothing; I heard it clink when he fell. That must be his.”

France rolled his eyes. “Gee, England, let me just rip his clothes off and get his armor. What a fabulous idea. Why didn't I think of that first? OH YEAH, because it's impossible!”  
“France, listen to yourself. You're the best of the best at ripping your own clothes off, what's the difference now?” asked England. “He's got the same strengths and weaknesses as you. Use that to your advantage.”

“England...”

“Like your weak spots... Your hate having your hair pulled, you cry if you twist your wrists, and just kick him in the crotch if all else fails,” England explained.

“England...” France said, now wondering how he knew all those incredibly true things about his body.

“And, if we're playing off of your strengths, you can bet he's going to be persistent and you're not going to be able to knock him down very easily. And, oh! If he gets his hands on a sword he's going to be able to use it.”

France was quiet for a moment, taking the time to inspect the scrapes on his arm. “What about you? Are you going to pinch his nose and grab him under the armpits from behind?” he said finally.

England nodded. “Naturally.”

“But watch out because he's a lot more cunning than the little guy looks.”

They stood in silence for a minute, taking in the whole scenario they'd gotten themselves into. Then England began to giggle. After a second, France joined in and the two laughed until tears ran down their faces.

“You know what?” England said after they had finally settled down. “If we die out there today, I want you to know something.”

“And what's that?”

“Well, someone very wise once told me that, if you care about someone, you should tell them. So, here goes nothing. If we don't make it out alive, I just want you to know that I miss the times when we were kids and we didn't fight as much. I actually quite enjoy _ not _ fighting with you, if you can believe it. And, I'm glad that we've been friends all this time. You're probably the only real friend I've got and, I know that you probably don't feel the same way but I just thought you should know,” England admitted.

France smiled at the ground but remained quiet for a few seconds before he finally spoke. “I don't hate you, if that's what you're trying to get at. I never have. I guess I thought that, because I was older, what I wanted to do was right even though a lot of the time I was wrong. You're my best friend. If we die, I want you to know that.”

There was another hushed moment between them before they hugged, their first real hug since childhood. Both were crying but neither said anything. In fact, neither of them realized it. It just happened.

France took a long, quivering breath in and let go. “Let's go kick some ass, _ oui?” _

“After you,” England said, cracking his knuckles.

Together, they rushed out into the bloody battle.

Meanwhile, Canada and America had figured out that their hits had no effect on their enemies and, in fact, backfired on themselves. Canada lay on the ground, pinned beneath Matthieu's foot, watching helplessly as Al swung at America, relentlessly, with his deadly baseball bat.

America, luckily, was quick enough to dodge the majority of Al's attempts to hit him. He noticed his brother was defenselessly caught under Matthieu's weight and, being the hero he was, decided to help. Just as Al sent his baseball bat flying at his face, he ducked and rolled backwards. Al lunged after him, determined to cause some physical damage to his doppelganger. America's plan came to fruition when Al accidentally nailed Matthieu in the side with the bat.

Matthieu toppled over, breathless, clutching his side where his mangled flesh now dripped with dark red blood. “God _ damn _ it, Al! What the hell is wrong with you!?”

“I'm so sorry, Matt!” Al cried, rushing to his brother. “He tricked me!” He tried to help him up.

Matthieu pushed him away. “Don't touch me, you ass!” he hissed, jumping to his feet on his own. “You had _ one _ job, Al!”

“You can only hurt yourselves!?” Canada yelped, scrambling over to America.

“The weapons!” America realized, glancing around. He noticed, very suddenly, that every one of the Other Color was fighting with some sort of armament: Al's bat, Luciano's knife, Lutz's brass knuckles, Oliver's dagger, Francois' metal chest plate, Matthieu's spear, Paul's hatchet, and the sword Gil had produced from the sheath at his belt, while the countries, themselves, had nothing.

“The weapons!” America yelled, gaining the attention of everyone on the battlefield. “They can only be hurt by their own weapons!”

Now, it is fair to say that screaming something like that out during a battle is pretty stupid. Not only does it alert your enemies that you indeed know how to win the fight, but it makes you a target. Who _ doesn't _ want to kill the guy that just evened the score?

This time, however, it did do some good. It made aware the fact that, yes, the Others had an advantage but it was possible to beat them. Also, it gave France the distraction he needed to grab Francois by the hair, ignoring the shooting pain in his scalp, and tear his shirt from his body, exposing his iron armor. Still holding the other by the hair, tears springing into the corners of his eyes, he unbuckled the chest plate and removed it from his body, handing it to England to took off into the sky with it.

“That's it,” Francois growled, breaking free from France's grip. “I'm going to end you once and for all!” His hands closed around his counterpart's throat, attempting to choke him to death right there on the spot.

A shadow passed over head.

France smiled. _ “Bonne nuit, connard,” _ he managed with the last of his air just before England dropped the heavy armor onto Francois' head.


	15. Chapter 15

It was barely minutes into the fight when Italy decided that his counterpart was the worst person he had ever met. He was creepy and mean and just plain scary. He wondered if his own laugh was as disturbing as Luciano's. He certainly hoped not because Luciano's cackle was one of the most sinister sounds he had ever heard.

He was fast too. Italy thought that he, himself, was quick, not only on foot, but in the air too. But Luciano was born with wings and knew how to use them much more efficiently than Italy did. 

“Eehehehehehe!” Luciano screeched lunging for Italy who narrowly flew out of the way. “You can't keep dodging me forever, Italia! I'm faster than you and you know it!” He twirled his knife with his fingers. “Knifey wants to play!” he sing-songed. 

“You're just a bully! Leave me alone!” Italy cried, avoiding another blow. “You know I can't fight back! It's not fair!”

“Italy, I never play by the rules,” Luciano said, smiling. Without warning, he threw himself, full force, at Italy. His knife struck his wing and stuck fast. Italy shrieked falling out of the sky. He landed on the ground with a sickening thud.

“Germany, help!”

“Italy!” Germany cried from across the battlefield, rushing to his best friend just as Luciano reached him. His eyes met his burgundy stare. “You.” There was nothing he wanted more than to tear the dark angel limb from limb but he knew doing so would kill Italy. “Leave him alone.”

_ “Dio mio,” _ said Luciano, “calm down, Kraut. At least let me get my poor little Knifey.” He stepped towards the fallen Italian but Germany blocked his path.

“Don't touch him,” he warned.

Luciano's magenta eyes flashed. “Aha... Chivalrous...”

Germany cocked an eyebrow. “What?”

Luciano cracked his knuckles. “I'll go through you if I have to.” He threw a punch at Germany's face, landing square in his jaw. Germany flinched but remained unwavered, bracing himself for another blow, which Luciano delivered in due time, followed by another and another and another. Luciano grinned, knowing his opponent couldn't fight back. “Go ahead, Germany. Hit me back.”

“Never,” Germany hissed, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth. “I know what that would do to Italy.”

“Germany!” Italy cried from the ground. He struggled to get to his feet, wincing as he moved. “Fight back! I'll be okay!”

“No!” Germany screamed, eyes wild with a swarm of emotions, the blue as tumultuous as the sky in a thunderstorm. “I couldn't hurt you!”

“But Germany,” Italy complained. “He's hurting _ you!” _

“I don't care!” said Germany. He narrowed his gaze upon the ever-grinning Luciano. “I can take it.”

“Germany!” Italy shrieked again as Luciano continued to punch and kick and throw everything he could muster at the tall blonde. “Please!”

Pain shot through Germany's body as he took Luciano's blows, trying as hard as he could not to falter despite the ache. “No,” he said through his teeth. “I can't.” With another kick to the ribs, he felt something inside him break and his breath caught in his throat as he tried to suppress a yelp.

“Stop it!” Italy sobbed, in too much pain himself to move anymore. “Stop hurting him!” With a small scream he pulled the dagger from his wing and held it out with a pale, shaking hand. “Take your knife! Just please stop hurting Germany!”

Luciano bolted forward, snatching the blade from Italy's clammy palm. “Knifey!”

When Luciano's blows stopped, Germany fell to his knees, clutching his chest and abdomen, collapsing into a shuddering heap with a soft cry.

“Germany! Germany, are you okay!?” Italy attempted to crawl across the battlefield to his injured friend, dragging his broken wings behind him. He was able to reach Germany as Luciano was busy cleaning (and also reminiscing with) his knife.

Germany winced as Italy threw his arms around him. The Italian nuzzling into the soft down of his wings.

“Italy,” Germany said, gruffly, “are you very hurt?”

“Just my wings,” said Italy. “What about you?”

“Something's broken... Some... Some ribs, I think,” he said. “It doesn't hurt very bad,” he lied through his teeth.

“Let me see,” Italy commanded, pulling Germany off behind a large rock. Once they were alone, Italy lifted up Germany's shirt to inspect him for outward injuries.

“Italy...” Germany said, gripping Italy's wrist as he ran his hand over the deep, purple bruises that were quickly forming on his stomach.

“Oh! I'm sorry, Germany! Does it hurt too much to touch?”

Germany shook his head. “No.”

“Oh, ah...” Italy trailed off. “Well... You shouldn't have let him do this to you. You should have just hit him back.” He frowned. “If he tries to hurt you again, you have to promise me you'll fight back, okay?”

“I can't...” Germany mumbled.

“You _ have _ to! I had to watch him _ hurt _ you and...” he cut himself off, swallowing the lump that was rising in his throat. “It was awful. I thought he was going to kill you.”

“I'll be fine,” said Germany. “I can't hit him though, knowing that it hurts you too... I can't hurt you...”

Italy's hand found Germany's and he squeezed it tightly. “But it hurts me when you get hurt.” They locked eyes and Italy felt that incessant thumping in his chest again-- the beating of his heart that seemed to pound so loudly he could hear it in his ears.

Beneath him, Germany's breathing quickened. “Italy...” he said again, his voice still raspy but also very soft. “I...”

“I love you,” Italy interrupted, cheeks burning. He swallowed hard, watching Germany's reaction to his confession.

Germany's entire face, ears included, turned several shades of red. “I love you too.” he said after a long pause. He brought his hand up and ran it through the back of Italy's auburn hair. He slowly began to guide Italy down towards him until their lips met.

The kiss, at first, was gentle and light, both of them new to this sort of thing, cautiously exploring the regions of each other's mouths with their own. Then Italy was pressing down on him, eager for more of the wonderful feeling he got when they touched, that adrenaline racing through his system, butterflies swarming in his stomach.

Germany propped himself up more, ignoring the pain in his core as he did. His tongue found its way between Italy's lips, tracing the back of his teeth. Italy lightly bit down on Germany's bottom lip, softly groaning with content as Germany's warm kisses made his entire body feel like it was swelling with joy and love and happiness, taking away all his pain and sadness and making everything okay.

“Italy,” Germany panted between kisses. “I love you so much.”

“I love you too, Germany. I should have told you sooner,” said Italy.

Germany silenced him with another kiss. “We're going to get out of here, okay? We're going to get back home and everything will be perfect.”

“Do you promise?”

“Pinkie swear.” Germany looped his pinkie finger around Italy's, a gesture that was especially sacred to them.

Italy touched the tip of his nose against Germany's. “You're my hero.”

Germany blushed and then rose to his feet, grunting in response to the pain that rocketed through his body with every motion. Italy tried to stand too but Germany held him down. “Stay here where it's safe.”

“But Germany...”

“Please, Italy,” Germany begged, his hand tightening around Italy's wrist. “I need you.”

“But-”

“Please...”

Italy swallowed hard and nodded. “Okay.”

Germany stooped down and brushed his lips against his cheek. “Thank you.”

Italy smiled through the tears that suddenly sprung to his eyes. “No problem.”

A look of concern washed over Germany's expression. “Are you alright? Why are you crying? Everything's going to be okay, I promise.” With his hand, he wiped away the tear which rolled down Italy's bruised face.

Italy held Germany's hand to his cheek, saline stained eyelashes resting against pale, skin. “I just don't want you to get hurt.” He brought Germany's fingers to his mouth and kissed them.

Germany eased his hand away and used it to push Italy's chin up so that he was looking him in the eye. “I won't.”

Italy put on a brave face and nodded. “I believe you then.” He let Germany's hand go and watched from the ground as his blonde-haired angel went off to fight in the battle.  


	16. Chapter 16

When Prussia looked around the battlefield and didn't see his brother, he panicked. He ignored Gil who was halfheartedly swinging his sword, every so often “dropping it by accident,” and rushed to find Germany.

However, instead, he ran, quite literally, into Lutz who was standing around, doing pretty much nothing.

“Hey,” Lutz said, looking bored, “watch where you're going.”

“Sorry,” Prussia said. “Please don't kill me! I'm too awesome!”

“I'm not going to kill you,” Lutz said, unstrapping the brass knuckles from his wrist. “I don't even want to be here.” He gave his weapon to the red-eyed angel.

Prussia examined the heavy, metal object in his hand. “What's this for?”

Lutz shrugged. “To fight back, I guess.”

“But you...”

“Yeah, I know. But it isn't fair for you to die without a way to defend yourself,” Lutz explained with a sigh.

“Oh, um, thanks!” said Prussia.

Lutz nodded. “My pleasure. Now, you can kill me if you want to.”

“No... Uh... No thanks...”

Lutz sucked in a breath through his teeth and exhaled noisily. “Alright then... That's fine, I suppose.”

Prussia giggled nervously. “Say... You haven't happened to see my brother anywhere, have you?”

Lutz thought for a moment. “Er... _ Ja. _ The last I saw him, Luciano was...” Lutz groaned. “Oh god... You might want to question Luciano on that...”

“Why!?” Prussia yelped. “What do you mean!?”

“When Luciano fights, he doesn't like to let his victims live,” said Lutz.

“So you're saying he might have killed my brother!?”

Lutz shrugged. “I don't know. Maybe he did. Then again, Italy's not around here anywhere either so maybe they-”

“I have to find him!” Prussia cut him off.

“Good luck then,” said Lutz as Prussia ran off.

Meanwhile, America had taken to the skies and was battling his counterpart with the dagger he had taken from Oliver. It hadn't been very hard to swipe Oliver's weapon. In all honesty, all he had to do was ask him for it and he happily obliged, not realizing what he had done until it was already too late. Now, America was faring rather well in the battle of the millennium as he expertly dodged Al's attacks and countered them with his own.

And, Matthieu, on the other hand, was still on the ground, expertly squashing Canada under his weight.

“Please get off,” Canada begged, struggling to push the sitting angel off of him. “You're kind of hurting me, Matthieu...”

Matthieu rolled his eyes. “You're just lucky I decided not to kill you. So, shut up and watch the show.” He gestured to their brothers soaring high above them, launching and avoiding aerial attacks.

Canada wasn't quite sure why Matthieu had come to the conclusion that it was better to keep him alive. He wasn't complaining but he didn't understand what revelation he had come to in the middle of the battle that had changed his mind completely. At the beginning of the fight, he had been ready to slaughter any nation that got in his way but now... Now it seemed he had completely given up and was just waiting for everyone to get bored and go home.

“Mind explaining to me one more time _ why _ you decided that?” Canada asked, still squirming.

Matthieu let a long breath of air out through his nose. “See, this is why people never have a change of heart. Because _ some people _ just can't be happy they're not dead and get over it.”

“That's because I know you didn't have a change of heart. What did you remember out there that made you stop fighting?”

“Augh! Nothing!” Matthieu cried, jumping up.

Canada rolled to his feet and crossed his arms. “I don't buy that even for a second.”

Matthieu sneered at him. “I liked you better when you didn't talk,” he growled, turning up his nose. “Just leave me alone.” He strode away but Canada quickly caught up to him.

“I just want to know! It involves us, doesn't it? It involves the nations.”

Matthieu pitched his head back and groaned as loudly as he could. “Ugh! Fine! Do you want to know what I remembered!? I remembered that someone is supposed to die out here today and I don't want it to be anyone in my family, okay!?” he snapped.

“But why does-”

“And I realized that I don't want you to die either, 'cuz you're kind of like... me...”

“Oh...”

“And, so I figured, if I just kind of stop fighting,” he looked around, “like it seems Gil and Lutz have already done, maybe everyone will just give up and call a truce and go home before the prophecy comes true.” He tugged, not quite brotherly, but almost, at the thin curl that sprung from Canada's hairline. “So, don't let it get to your head, Canadia.”

“I understand,” said Canada. “I don't want you to die either. But I don't think we should just sit around and wait and see if the other stop fighting. We should probably remind them that it's possible for someone they care about to die today if they don't cut it out.”

“I see your point,” Matthieu said, “We should tell them. However, I don't think they're going to just listen to us. We're going to have to get their attention somehow.”

“Well, first, let's stop America and Al. They'll probably let us explain. Then, afterward, we'll see if they'll help us tell the others,” Canada suggested.

Matthieu nodded. “Good plan. I like the way you think. We make a pretty rad team.”

“We really do,” Canada said, grinning sheepishly.

“We're friends now.”

“Are we?”

“Yeah.”

“Alright.”

“Okay, let's go get our stupid brothers,” said Matthieu, flapping his massive wings until he was lifted into the air, followed by Canada.

Across the battlefield, France had fitted himself with the armor while Francois was lying unconscious on the ground. He glanced, uncertainly, at England. “How do I look?”

“Smashing,” said England. “Now, when he wakes up, you need to fly i-”

“That's going to be a problem.”

“Why?”

“I can't fly,” France said, sheepishly. “I just... I can't do it.”

“Hmm,” England hummed, rubbing his chin, thoughtfully. “That is kind of... unfortunate... But, I think we should be able to work around that little difficulty,” he explained, hands on his hips.

“How?” asked France. “If he can fly, he still has an advantage over me.”

“Think of him, weakness-wise. What can you do to him now that he can't do to you?”

“Uh...” France mumbled, pacing. “Well... He-” Before he could finish his thought, however, he was interrupted by blast of razor sharp feathers to the face, knocking him backwards, onto the ground.

He looked up to see Francois hovering over him, scowl plastered on his angular face, a nasty-looking bump peeking out from under his white-blonde hair. He cracked his knuckles. “You made a mistake, _ mon ami,” _ he growled.

“Did I?” asked France, getting to his feet, wiping his mouth. “Or was it you who was mistaken!?”

“Oh my God, you're going to die,” England groaned, planting his hand against his forehead.

“What else was I supposed to say!?” France cried.

“Anything but that!”

“But England-”

“Stop _ talking!” _ Francois snarled. “Your voices are like _ nails!” _ He flapped his wings wings furiously, shedding down all around him.

England ruffled his own feathers. “Yours isn't all that pleasant either. At least France doesn't sound like he's smoked six packs a day for the last thirteen years.”

“Yeah!” France agreed, crossing his arms. “We might sound similar but I _ definitely _ sound sexier, isn't that right, _ Angelterre?” _

England blushed. “Right.”

France flashed a smile and chuckled. “So, Francois, I guess it's about time we dueled it out like gentlemen, _ non?” _

Francois laughed gruffly. “You seem to have forgotten that I'm not a gentleman,” he said, grinning darkly. “So I'm afraid that I'm going to have to fight to my advantage.”

“What advantage?” asked France, pounding against the clanging metal strapped to his chest. “I've got this.”

Francois blew a puff of smoke out through the corner of his mouth. “Yes, but you can't fly,” he said.

France got red in the face. “How do you know!?”

“Well, it's obvious. I've been chasing you around this whole time and you've been doing it all on foot. If you could fly, I'm sure you would have done it by now.”

“Oh yeah!?” France hissed, arranging himself into the takeoff stance that Italy had taught him earlier. “Well, we'll see about that.”

“France,” England said, bringing his hand down, firmly, on his shoulder. “You're just going to embarrass yourself.”

Without a word in reply, France ran at Francois, but before he reached him, spread his wings to their full span and took off, soaring into the sky.

 


	17. Chapter 17

Paul wasn't the kind of kid anyone liked their child playing with on the playground. Paul wasn't the kind of kid who _ wanted _ to play with other people's children either. He did, however, decide to humor Sealand by having a little aerial race with his double.

The two were just about evenly matched on land or in the air. Paul's advantage, though, was his axe. He hadn't been able to hit his target but Sealand knew, if he could manage to, the game would be over. For himself, at least. That's not to say that he didn't find this competition fun. It had been a long time since Sealand had played with someone his own size and he was getting a real kick out of it. Granted, he had friends like Latvia and Iceland but Latvia scared too easily and Iceland wasn't any fun. And Wy and Liechtenstein were girls and girls are icky.

Anyhow, he decided that he would be easier to avoid getting an axe stuck in his back on the ground. He landed, hard, on his feet, breaking into a sprint, holding his arms out from his sides as he ran.

Paul landed close behind him, puffing from exertion. “How do you have so much energy!?” he shouted.

“That's an easy one!” Sealand giggled. “I'm fueled by the awesomeness my country generates! It being the best and all!”   

“That doesn't make any sense!” Paul huffed. “Just slow down so I can kill you already!”

Sealand started to protest but, before he could, he tripped over a small stone jutting from the ground, falling flat on his face. Temporarily stunned, he rolled onto his back and saw Paul running right towards him, hurling his axe at his face.

Then he saw sandy wings jump between him and the hatchet, blocking the weapon from reaching its target.

“England!” Sealand cried, grabbing onto his older brother's legs. “No!”

England braced himself for impact with the axe but, even before it reached him, a flash of strawberry blonde burst between them as Oliver took the hit.

The hatchet planted itself, very firmly, in the Englishman's shoulder with a sickening thud. Blood almost instantly soaked through Oliver's freshly pressed shirt, turning the pink a dark, sticky, red.

“Oh,” Oliver whimpered, artlessly jerking the axe from his flesh, more blood gushing out of him as he tugged. He dropped the tool and looked down at his scarlet-stained hands before touching his now-lifeless arm.

“Oliver!” Paul gasped, rushing to his brother. “I'm so sorry, Oliver! Are you okay!?”

“I'm alright,” Oliver said, dazed, his multicolored eyes glassy. He fell to his knees on the yellowed ground.

“Easy now, chap,” England said, kneeling down next to the man who had just saved his life. “You're going to be fine.”

Oliver nodded, pale-faced, looking woozier by the second. “Are you alright?”

“What!? Why in the bloody hell are you worried about me!?” England yelped, honestly taken aback by the fact that Oliver's arm had been nearly torn away completely and he was asking if _ he, _ of all people, was okay.

“Because you're my friend,” said Oliver.

“Oh, Christ...” England muttered, under his breath. “Well, _ that _ makes me feel terrible.”

“This is all my fault!” both Sealands wailed simultaneously.

“It's no one's fault,” Oliver reassured, pressing against his wound with his hand, blood oozing through his gaunt fingers. “And, what are you so concerned for? I'm perfectly fine.” His chest shook with laughter. “Well, what I mean to say is, fine besides this arm!”

England stood, looking to the sky. “Where's your France, Oliver? He'll know what to do.”

“Umm,” said Oliver, “I'm not sure. He was... There!” He released the pressure on his injury for a second to point at a speck high up in the air.

England squinted against the sun to see what was going on several hundred feet above the ground. The early morning light reflected off of France's body armor as he bashed into Francois who was hurling himself in his direction equally as fast.

“Hey!” cried Sealand. “France is flying!”

England nodded. “Indeed he is. Now, if only he'd _ stop _ flying and get his French ass over here...” he said as he watched France and Francois slam into each other above the ground.

Suddenly, Al landed beside them with a thump, followed closely behind by Matthieu, Canada, and America.

“What happened!?” America yelped, seeing the blood-spattered men. “Is everyone okay!?”

“Oliver!” Al yelped, pushing through the crowd until he was kneeling in front of the wounded angel. “Who did this to you!? Are you alright!?”  
Oliver nodded. “It was an accident; I blame myself. And yes, I'm fine. Once our boring Francie gets done fighting with the fabulous Francie, we'll figure out what to do about this next,” he said.

“Never mind waiting,” Matthieu cut in. “I'll go get him myself!” He spread his bandaged wings and took off to break up the fight between the Frenchmen. He returned in less than a minute, Francois on his heels, France following behind.  

Francois sat down next to Oliver and, without saying anything, ripped the sleeve of his shirt off to reveal the deep lesion in all its gory glory. He poked around it with his finger, wiping the blood away with his sleeve.

“Well?” said Oliver, looking disdainfully at his severed arm although he seemed more concerned that Francois had just torn the sleeve off his favorite shirt.  

“It's a matter of functionality. We can patch it up for now but, if it turns out to be a useless limb, we should probably just remove it in the future,” Francois said, grimly. “It's only practical.”

Oliver swallowed hard. “Fair enough then.”

“We'll get you a prosthetic!” Al cried.

“Maybe it could be a robot arm?” America suggested.

Al nodded. “Yeah! A robot arm! We can do that!”

“Someone go find Lutz,” Francois commanded. “If anyone will be able to stitch it up, it'll be him.”

“I'm right here,” the hulking German said, suddenly appearing behind him. “I'll do my best with what I have.” He unhinged the small toolbox from his belt and stooped down beside Oliver, cleaning the wound with a rag and a glass bottle of rubbing alcohol.

Oliver winced from the sting. “It... burns a bit...”

“That's expected,” said Lutz. “You're holding up well though. When I had to patch up Matthieu and Luciano, they didn't sit half as still as you.” He threaded a needle with his teeth.

“Yeah, because you had to rebreak my goddamn ribs!” Matthieu countered, crossing his arms.

Oliver squeaked with pain as Lutz's needle entered his skin, lacing up the laceration.

“Just keep still,” Lutz grunted. “You're doing just fine.” He knotted the thick thread and snipped it off with a pair of wire-cutters. “There, the worst is over.” He took a roll of gauze out of his toolbox and used it to wrap Oliver's shoulder. When he finished he slung the whole appendage into a sling that he had fashioned from a strip of cloth. “Finished,” Lutz said, sitting back, wiping the blood from his hands with an old towel.

Oliver let out a long sigh. “Thank you.”

Lutz nodded. “No problem.”

Al and Matthieu helped Oliver to his feet, holding him steady as he wobbled.

“You know, I was thinking,” Canada said suddenly. “M-maybe we should all just stop fighting. I mean... look where it's gotten us?”

“And the prophecy,” Matthieu reminded. “Let's not forget that someone's supposed to die out here today and I don't w-”

“NO!”

America looked around. “What the hell was that!?”

“Italy!” France cried, sprinting across the field. He heard the Italian scream again and followed the sound until he came to a huge, crumbling mound of white stones. Without heeding caution, he pushed through the gravel until he came to a sandy clearing. There he found Prussia stooping down in front of a sobbing Italy in front of a very large, very wide cave.

“What is this place?” England asked, showing up with the rest of the angels.  

“That's not important!” France snapped. He placed a hand down upon Prussia's shoulder and knelt as well. “What happened?”

“He's got Germany!” Italy wailed, shaking his head back and forth. “Luciano took him in there! And Prussia won't let me go in after him!”

“It's too dangerous!” said Prussia. “Do you think West would want you to risk it!?”

“I don't care!” cried Italy, pushing Prussia away as hard as he could, which wasn't very hard at all.

“How did Luciano manage to get _ Germany _ of all people in _ there!?” _ asked England.

“He held a knife to his throat!” Italy sniffed. “And he won't fight back to get away because he doesn't want to hurt _ me! _ Why does he have to care so much!? I'd be fine if he just punched that _ cazzo _ right in the mouth!” he hissed.

“Think of it from his perspective, Italy,” France cooed. “Would you hurt Lutz if you knew it hurt Germany?”

Italy thought about that for a moment before erupting into another round of tears.

Prussia got to his feet and ran his hand through his thick, white hair. “Goddammit,” he uttered, pacing. “My little brother...” He stared at the entrance to the cave. “I'm going in after him!”

“No!” Francois said, holding him back. “This is his battle that he needs to fight.”

“What!?”

“That prophecy!” Sealand interjected. “The one from Ancient Greece!”

Oliver nodded, grimly, clutching his injured arm. “Precisely.”

“He will be faced with the ultimate choice, where he must trade a life for the life of his friend. If he acts upon his deepest emotions, he will fail and good will die. However, if he is a true hero, he will reunite twins alike and safely return home. But either way, someone will die. It is only his choice of who it will be,” Gil said, showing up from what seemed to be thin air, speaking for the first time since they arrived.

“Jesus Christ...” America mumbled. “That's heavy stuff... So... like... what's it mean?”

“It means,” said England, “if Germany doesn't fight back...”

“This is absolute shit!” Prussia shouted, punching a rock. “You're crazy if you think Germany's going to actually hurt the little prick that took him! He's going to die in there!”

“But this is _ his _ fight,” Francois said again. “He needs to do this on his own.”

“Someone's going to die though,” said Al.

“And there's three people who that could be...” Lutz replied.


	18. Chapter 18

The inside of the cave was cold and dark and smelled of mildew and saltwater. Germany sat, tucked into a tight ball, on a huge slab of rock, blood trickling from the many scratches Luciano had given him with his knife.

Meanwhile, Luciano stood, off to the side, rinsing the blade in a tiny spring that dribbled from the wall of the cavern. “You know, Germany,” he said, keeping his back to the hostage country, “this is some predicament you've gotten yourself into.”

“I know,” Germany hissed. “You keep reminding me.”

Luciano turned around, eyes glinting with fuchsia insanity and bloodthirstiness. “But, oh Germany, we're going to have such fun! You, Knifey, and I!” He looked at his knife with adoration. “What do you think, Knifey? Which part should we dismember first? I'm thinking his fingers one by one... Oh? What's that? You think... Oh! Knifey! You dirty mind, you!” he cackled.

_ That knife, _ Germany thought, biting his lip, _ if only... _

Before he could stop himself, he had pinned Luciano against the wall, taking precautions to make sure he wasn't injured so to protect his Italy.

“What are you doing!?” Luciano spat, struggling against Germany's grip.

“Keeping a promise.” He pried the knife from Luciano's hands, taking possession of the weapon with a satisfied cry.

“Knifey!” Luciano shouted, lunging after it. When it was clear that he wasn't getting it back, he stuck out his bottom lip and pouted. “Germany! No fair! Give me back my Knifey! I'll surrender if you just give him back to me!”    

“No,” Germany growled. “You've hurt Italy and I too much to just let you go.”

Luciano blinked, suddenly looking less diabolical and more like... well... _ Germany's _ Italy. “But Germany...” he whined, matching Italy's exact voice. “That's not fair!”

“Stop it,” Germany said, turning away. “That's not going to work with me.”

Luciano poked him in the side and giggled. Giggled in _ Italy's _ laugh, that is. _ “Ve! _ Don't be silly, Germany! I don't know what you're talking about, Captain!”

“Stop,” Germany warned again, his eyelid twitching with both rage and confusion. He didn't know what to do. He didn't even know if Italy would be safe if he injured Luciano with the knife. He was absolutely terrified of accidentally hurting his... whatever he was to him at that point.

Luciano bounced up and down on his toes, eyes falling into a drowsy, happy squint like the one that played upon Italy's face on a daily basis. “Stop what?” He grinned sweetly.

Germany had to assume that Luciano was a master of deception for how else would he be able to do an impression of Italy _ that well _ even if they _ were _ technically the same person. They hadn't met until that morning, Matthieu had even said so. So, _ how _ was Luciano doing and saying the exact same thing that his counterpart would have? His mind wandered the thoughts that, maybe, he, himself, was capable of acting like Lutz or if Italy could act like the psychopath smiling at him at that very second.

He came to the conclusion that the doppelgangers were not the exact opposite of the nations. They were the manifestation of whatever traits that the countries tried their best to suppress and leave to gather dust in the innermost recesses of their minds.

Take Lutz and Germany for instance. Germany was aware that, deep down, he was just as submissive and self loathing just as Lutz was. He was fully conscious of these attributes. He was also cognizant of the fact that he had, for his entire life, or at least since he woke up in his brother's house hundreds of years ago with no memory of the past, directed his mind away from these bothersome personality traits. Yes, they had always been there, but he refused to acknowledge them. So, naturally, Lutz's main consciousness consisted of him being a submissive, self loathing masochist.  

It was a simple concept really. And, by bringing out his recessive side, he could, in theory, _ become _ Lutz just as Lutz could, quite possibly, _ become him. _

He quickly pushed the thoughts aside, though, directing his attention to the more pressing matters at hand. Namely, Luciano.

And, speaking of Luciano, the little sociopath had decided that it was no use pretending to be Italy if Germany wasn't even going to return his knife to him and, thus, he had resorted back to his natural, psychotic state. “Give me Knifey back and I promise I'll kill you quickly!” he growled. “If you make me fight you for him, I'll have to torture you slowly!”

“No. I'm going to leave this place, taking my friends with me, and you're not going to do anything about it,” Germany said in a low voice.

Without warning, Luciano lunged at him, scratching and clawing at his face and arms in a desperate attempt to get his weapon back.

Germany fell back against the stone slab, startled by the sudden attack, as Luciano screamed in anguish as he fought. Germany questioned whether or not to just stab Luciano in the back and get it over with but he found himself pinned against the smaller man's grip, unable to do anything.

“Give me back my Knifey, _ now,” _ Luciano hissed, droplets of saliva spattering against Germany's face.

“No,” barked Germany, and in one fluid motion, he flipped himself around so that he had pinned Luciano. He knew that his hands were tight around the other's wrists as they grated against the rock but he figured it couldn't hurt Italy too much. He even figured that he would be proud of him for fighting back at least.

Luciano's bottom lip quivered when he realized he was stuck under his opponent's strong hands. His eyes softened to a magenta-brown as they watered. “Germany...” he whimpered. “So mean...”

“Don't do this again,” said Germany.

Luciano started to cry. “No, Germany! Don't kill me, Captain! Please! I have so much to live for!”

“Crocodile tears,” Germany snarled. “They won't work.”

A smile crept across Luciano's face, his eyes remaining just as innocent. “Ah, come on, Germany! You wouldn't kill me, right? You know I'm just a little Italian and we can't do anything but eat, sleep and surrender!  I didn't do anything to you!”

“Liar!” Germany shouted. “You are a filthy liar! Goddammit! You're absolutely worthless to me!”

Luciano frowned. It was unusual because Germany had even seen Italy with this look upon his face before.

“If I'm so worthless, why haven't you killed me yet? You have the motive, you have the weapon, so do it already,” said Luciano.

“I...” Germany started but trailed off. Why _ hadn't _ he killed his hostage already?

Luciano chuckled. “What's the matter, Germany? Can't you bring yourself to do it?” he asked. “You could let me go? I've got a white flag in my pocket that I could get out if you let go of me!” He studied the German's face for a second. “Or are you afraid to kill me because you think it might kill Italy? That's it, isn't it? Eehehehehe! There's only one way to find out!” He glanced down at his chest. “But you won't do it because you're weak.”

“I was strong enough to reform after the holocaust. I was strong enough to come here to rescue my best friend. And I'm strong enough to kill you now.” And, in a very quick movement, he brought the knife up and thrust the dagger deep into Luciano's chest.

Luciano gasped, his beloved blade stuck fast in his heart. He smiled up at Germany, blood seeping between his teeth. “Ehehe...” he laughed. “At least I got Knifey back...” His eyes went dim, like the flame left his body, as his last breath escaped his lips. Luciano was dead.


	19. Chapter 19

Italy nervously rubbed the burning red rings that had formed around his wrists as he stared, anxiously, towards the mouth of the cave. “He's fighting back,” he said. “That's good, right?”

France nodded, reassuringly. _ “Oui, _ it is. He's not giving up, at least.”

Suddenly, Italy gasped and clutched his chest. “Ah,” he said.

“What's the matter?” asked France, concerned about Italy's well-being. He placed a hand on his knee. “What happened?”

Italy shook his head and shrugged. “I don't know. I felt cold for a second...”

Prussia continued to pace in the sand. “Goddamn, I wish I knew what was going on in there!” he said. “It's not fair that we have to wait out here and worry about him! If I could, I would run right in there and karate-chop that little twat, Luciano, right in the neck!” he griped. “This is seriously pissing me off.”

“Just relax, Prussia,” England said. “He'll be out when he's done.”

“Yeah, well, I wish he'd be done faster.”

There was abrupt movement at the back of the cave: slow, trudging footsteps, heading towards the bright light of day.

“Someone's coming,” said Lutz, stepping forward. “Only one person, though.”

Italy tensed, uneasily playing with a loose auburn feather, biting his lip.

Then Germany stepped out into the sunlight, squinting as he did. He was slightly bruised and there were dark red stains on his clothes but he was none the worse for wear. His eyes were sad, however, and he carried something in his hands.

“Germany!” Prussia cried, rushing to his brother and throwing his arms around him in a tight hug.

Germany returned the embrace, burying his face in his brother's shoulder. When he let go, he turned to Lutz. “I'm sorry,” he said, handing him the object he had been carrying: Luciano's knife.

Lutz sighed and nodded, examining the weapon. “That's alright. I'll always have my scars to remember him by.” He touched the marks on his face with reluctant fondness. “I don't blame you for anything. It was his own fault. And, I'm sorry he put you through all of this.” He reached out his hand. “Friends?

Germany took it and shook it. “Friends.”

In a second, Italy's arms were around his neck in a hug. “Germany! You're okay!”

_ “Ja, _ I am. And you are too.” He rested his forehead against Italy's. “I was worried that killing Luciano might kill you too. I don't know what I would have done then...”

“Well, don't think about it,” Italy said, smiling. “Everyone is okay now! I'm just so happy you're not hurt!” He put his hand on Germany's cheek and kissed him.

Germany was taken back for a second, remembering that no one else knew of their first moment together but soon decided that he didn't care and leaned into the kiss.

“YES!” Prussia screamed, pumping a fist in the air and giving France a hi-five. “FINALLY!”

Germany shot his brother a disapproving glance, still holding Italy close to him. “Finally?”

Prussia nodded. “I've been waiting for this for... like... ever. You have no idea, West,” said Prussia.

All of a sudden, they were joined by Gaul, Germania, Britannia, and Rome who rushed around the corner of the rocky landform, bright with excitement.

“You did it!” Rome cried. “And so did Britannia! She found you a way home!”

Britannia shot England and Sealand a look. “Luckily I had _ my _ copy of the spell book so _ I'll _ send you boys home,” she said. “Come along when you're done here.” She left with the others.

“I'll really miss you!” Oliver said to England, throwing his good arm around him in an embrace.

England politely inched away. “Yes, I'll miss you too, Oliver.”

Matthieu pointed at Canada. “You. This is the last time I'm going to see you since our duty has been fulfilled.”

“Won't you be here if I dissolve sometime in the future?” Canada asked.

Matthieu shook his head. “Nope. We disappear when you show up here for good. Can't have two of the same person running around here, eh? We know how that turns out.”

“Well, this is goodbye then,” Canada said, sheepishly, looking down.

Matthieu nodded. “Yeah. So long, Canadia.” He whistled for his brother. “C'mon, Al!”

Al reached out for a handshake from America but yanked it away just before his counterpart could shake it. He laughed, running his hand through his hair. “Psych!” he said and flew away with his brother.

“What an asshole.”

“Good thing I never have to see you again because I hate you,” said Francois to France.

“The feeling's mutual, you handsome bastard,” France replied.

Gil and Prussia shared a nod of approval and Paul pushed Sealand down and ran away. Then the Other Colors were gone.

When the countries returned to the grassy plain, Britannia held an old book in her hands. “Are you ready to go home?” she asked with a smile.

_ “Si!” _ Italy cried.

Germany nodded in agreement. “No offense to any of you but I really hate this place and I'm ready to get the hell out of here.”

“You and me both, Germany,” said England. “You and me both.”

They said their goodbyes and stood  before Britannia who held her book open in front of her. “Now,” she said, “The way out of the Netherworld is a bit different than the way _ in. _ Actually, I suspect it'll be a tad similar to the way the American twins came through.”

“You mean the aurora?” said Canada. “At Russia's place?”

Britannia shrugged. “Ah, sort of. You may not end up in Russia though. It's all a question of where...”

“Ach!” Germany exclaimed. “So, you're going to send us off not knowing where in the world we're going to end up!?”

Germania stepped forward and raised his eyebrows. “Hey, you could be stuck here for all eternity with us, if you'd rather.”

Germany paused for a beat. “Hurry up and let's go then...” he said, stepping back in line.

Britannia began to read aloud from her book of spells and the wind began to whip through the surrounding trees, knocking silver and gold leaves to the ground.

The breeze didn't smell as cinnamon and sage-like as it did when they entered and, instead, had the faint aroma of sweets and peppercorn.

As Britannia spoke, the blue lights in the sky spun around each other in a glowing vortex. From this, other balls of energy emerged such as yellow and pink ones. They swirled and spun until they had created their own replica of the Northern Lights.

“It's beautiful,” France said, watching the colors refract through the sky.

The aurora lowered to the ground and deformed into a radiant, pulsating portal.

“Go now,” said Britannia, closing her book.

“Goodbye boys!” Gaul said, waving, as the eight of them disappeared into the spectrum of light.


	20. Chapter 20

Iceland was as bored as he could be. It was lonely in his country and the only one he had to talk to was his pet, Mr. Puffin, who wasn't very good company at all. Then again, he preferred the companionship of the chubby little bird rather than that of his older brother Norway or any of the other Nordics such as Denmark, or Sweden, or even little Finland. He decided that, yes, it was lonely being an island, but silence was something difficult to find anywhere else. He figured that he should cherish it while he had it and leaned back against a rock and watched the waves hit the shore of his favorite beach.

It was a beautiful day; the aurora cast a beautiful green and pink glow onto the sea. He was proud of the Lights. He _ was _ the Gatekeeper, after all. He wasn't sure what that title meant. There wasn't a gate anywhere. That is, unless the aurora was a gate dividing his world from some far off land, which he decided was not only unrealistic and highly unlikely but also utterly ridiculous.

Then he heard it: a far off yelling sounding like it was getting closer and closer by the second. He looked around, not seeing anything peculiar. Just to be safe, he stood and grabbed his staff which leaned against a rock nearby.

Mr. Puffin landed on his head. “Whatcha doin', Tough Guy? What's the matter?” he asked in a rough voice.

“I heard a noise,” Iceland said.

Mr. Puffin tilted his head. “I didn't hear anything.”

“There was a- THERE!” He pointed at the sky. Sure enough, the aurora opened up and something fell out.

Or, some _ one _ fell out!

Iceland watched, in shock and awe, as eight countries tumbled through the sky and landed in a pile of feathers and complaints.

America looked up at him from underneath his brother. “Hey.”

“W-welcome to Iceland...” said Iceland. “Are you aware you're all naked?”

“Ack! No!” England hurried to cover up his exposed manhood with the closest thing he could find, which happened to be a rock. “How did this happen!?”  
“N-no w-wonder Russia said I w-wouldn't have Kumajirou when we got back! W-we don't have anything” Canada cried, trying his best to hide himself.

France grinned at England. “Ohonhonhonhon!” he laughed. _ “Angelterre, _ I'm not used to seeing you so... vulnerable!” He winked.

“Stop looking at me!” England shrieked.

Sealand stood before his friend, not caring about the fact that he was nude. “Hi, Iceland! Look! We fell out of the sky!”

Iceland sighed. “Come on. I'm sure I can find something for you to wear at my house. Follow me.”

***

Iceland's house was a nice place to rest. He had a warm fire, good food, and, most importantly, spare clothes.

“You can stay the night if you want to. I know it's a long way back and you seem to have... traveled pretty far already today,” Iceland had said, giving them the second floor of his house to their disposal. “You can do what you want, just don't break anything. I'm going to go... Anywhere but here...”

France decided, once he was clothed in one of Norway's outfits, that he should be the one to cook dinner for everyone. He had fought over the privilege with England, who was convinced that _ his _ food was superior to the Frenchman's. They decided to each make a sample dish and have Italy and Sealand taste test the food. England, of course, was a terrible cook and lost the competition within the first bite taken. England's blood pudding didn't stand a chance against France's bouillabaisse. Not in the slightest.

And, so, France made dinner. He attempted the impossible task of cooking a meal diverse enough to satisfy the tastes of everyone attending. He nearly succeeded save for anything remotely English or American, which everyone else thought was terrible.

When he was finished cooking, he stood back and admired his work.

“It smells good, at least,” England said, standing in the doorway. “But I'm not convinced quite yet.”

France chuckled. “Then go ahead and have some, _ Angelterre. _ I hope you'll be happy with it.”

England and France sat down for their first civil meal together at the same table in several hundred years.

Sealand entered the room after a while. “England,” he said, standing before his older brother, “thank you for trying to save me earlier when Paul threw that axe.”

England was taken aback but nodded. “You're welcome. I didn't want to see you end up hurt.”

“Then why won't you recognize me as a big country? I could look out for myself if I was big!”

“Sealand, look how America's turned out. Do you want to end up like him?”

“Yes! I like America! And everyone knows who he is! No one knows who I am.”

England ruffled his hair. “I know who you are.”

Sealand's eyes lit up. “So you're recognizing me!?”

“Not quite...” England said. “Let's start small, alright?”

Sealand crossed his arms. “Awh. No fair. How come you recognized America when he was little?” he asked.

“I didn't want to. He started a war with me and won. Then I was forced to give him independence,” England admitted. “It wasn't by my choice.”

Sealand grinned. “So, all I have to do is start a war!?” he asked, excitedly.

England chuckled. “That's pretty big thinking for someone so small. But, you've got a population of four so I think maybe you should wait a little while before trying to start any wars, alright?”

“So all I need to do is up my population!?”

“I know something you could do,” France cut in. “Why don't you try to find something you can do that people will remember you for?”

“Like what?” asked Sealand.

“Find your talent and work really hard at it until you're better at it than anyone else and then people will want to come visit you for it.”

“That's a good idea!” Sealand bubbled. “I could get lots and lots of tourists! Thank you, France! I'm going to go clean my whole country until it's spotless as soon as I get home tomorrow!”

England laughed. “Good luck to you, then. But, first, why don't you have some supper, hm?”

Sealand nodded. “I'm going to need lots of food so I can get big and strong!”

Meanwhile, Germany took a hot shower before he did anything else. He was convinced that interdimensional traveling left a residue on his skin which he was determined to scrub off whether or not it took an entire bar of soap.

After that, he took a helping of the food France had expertly prepared, grabbed a tall glass of beer, and sat on the sofa next to Italy.

Italy sighed, contently, curling up next to him, the fire casting a warm glow onto his face. “We did it, Germany,” he said, smiling, his eyes closed. “We made it home, safe and sound.”

_ “Ja, _ we did,” Germany said, taking his hand. “I promised we would, didn't I?”

“Mmhmm! And everything's perfect, just like you said!” he exclaimed, resting his head on Germany's shoulder.

After a small silence Germany spoke up. “Hey, Italy... What... What's our... uh... What are we now?”

“What do you mean, Germany?”  
“Are we... together...? Or...”

“I... I think... We... We can be if you want to...” Italy said, nervously.

“Well... Do _ you _ want to?”

“Yes,” Italy squeaked.

Germany let out a sigh of relief. “Okay, good, because I want to be, too.”

“Yay!” Italy cried, flinging his arms around his boyfriend's neck in a hug. _ “Ti amo!” _

_ “Ich liebe dich, auch.” _


End file.
